^ 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

University  of  California. 


Class 


ON   THE   LIGHTSHIP 


On  the  Lightship 


BY 


Herman  Knickerbocker  Viele 

Author  of    *'The  Inn  of  the    Silver  Moon,"    "Myra  op 

THE  Pines,"  "The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers," 

"Heartbreak  Hill,"  etc. 


Introduction  by 
THOMAS  A.  JANVIER 


i    > 


NEW  YORK 
DUFFIELD   &   COMPANY 

1909 


Copyright,  1909,  bv 
DUFFIELD  &  COMPANY 


Published  September,  1909 


THE  PREMIER  PRESS 
NEW  YORK 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Introduction        .         .         .         ....       i.i       9 

The  Story  of  Ignatius,  the  Almoner     .        .     19 
The  Dead  Man's  Chest 41 


The  Carhart  Mystery 


The    Monstrosity 

The  Priestess  of  Amen  Ra 

The  Girl  from  Mercury 

The  Unexpected  Letter 

The  Money  Meter 

The  Guest  of  Honor 

The    Man    without    a    Pension 


!•!  I< 


l»i  !• 


(• 


83 


..  107 

.  135 

,.  167 

,.  213 

..  233 

,.  263 

.  287 


226405 


introduction; 


,   J'    1    >    ^    1  J     '  , 

'     .  1   ,     )       11  1     •)     , 


INTRODUCTION 

ON  Board  the  Light- Ship  "  is  the 
title — retained  in  loving  defer- 
ence to  his  intention — that  would 
have  been  given  to  this  collection 
of  stories  by  their  author.  Had  Viele  lived 
but  a  little  while  longer,  he  would  have  jus- 
tified it  by  placing  them  in  a  setting  char- 
acteristically fantastic  and  characteristically 
original. 

He  had  planned  to  frame  them  in  an  en- 
circling story  describing,  and  duly  account- 
ing for,  the  chance  assemblage  aboard  a 
vessel  of  that  unusual  type  of  a  heteroge- 
neous company;  and — having  in  his  own 
fanciful  way  convincingly  disposed  of  con- 
ditions not  precisely  in  line  with  the  strict- 
est probability — so  to  dovetail  the  several 
stories  into  their  encirclement  that  the  tell- 
ing of  them,   in  turn,   would  have  come 

9 


•    < 


«    «  "      •   •    •     g 

*       e  •«•♦•» 

♦  mm  * 


.-..:•  -''i  j^' Tj^  Q  D  u  c  T  I  O  N 

easily  and  naturally  from  those  upcasts  of 
the  sea. 

It  was  a  project  wholly  after  his  own 
heart.  I  can  imagine  the  pleasure  that  he 
would  have  found  in  working  his  machin- 
ery— always  out  of  sight,  and  always  run- 
ning with  a  silent  smoothness — for  getting 
together  in  that  queer  place  his  company 
of  story-tellers.  He  would  have  used,  of 
course,  the  Light-ship  and  the  light-keepers 
as  his  firmly  real  ground-work.  Ship  and 
crew  w^ould  have  been  presented  in  a  mat- 
ter-of-fact way,  in  keeping  with  their  rec- 
ognized matter-of-fact  existence,  that  subtly 
would  have  instilled  the  habit  of  belief  into 
the  minds  of  his  readers :  and  so  would  have 
led  them  onward  softly,  being  in  a  way 
hypnotized,  to  an  equal  belief — as  he  slipped 
lightly  along,  with  seemingly  the  same  sim- 
plicity and  the  same  ingenuousness — in 
what  assuredly  w^ould  not  have  been  matter- 
of-fact  explanations  of  how  those  story- 
tellers happened  to  be  at  large  upon  the 
ocean  before  they  were  taken  on  board! 

10 


INTRODUCTION 

That  far  I  can  follow  him:  but  the  play 
of  fancy  that  he  would  have  put  into  his 
explanations — as  he  accounted  in  all  man- 
ner of  quite  probable  impossible  ways  for 
such  flotsam  being  adrift,  and  for  its  salvage 
aboard  the  Light-ship — would  have  been  so 
wholly  the  play  of  his  own  alert  individual 
fancy  that  it  is  beyond  my  ken.  All  that 
I  can  be  sure  of — and  be  very  sure  of — 
is  that  his  explanations  of  that  marine  phe- 
nomenon, and  of  the  coming  of  its  several 
members  up  out  of  the  sea  and  over  the 
ship's  rail,  would  have  been  very  delight- 
fully and  very  speciously  satisfying.  That 
the  explanations  might  have  been  less  con- 
vincing when  critically  analyzed  is  a  negli- 
gible detail:  the  only  essential  requirement 
of  a  fantastic  tale  being  that  it  shall  be 
convincing  as  it  goes  along. 

Even  my  bald  outline  of  this  story — that 
now  never  will  be  told — shows  how  harmo- 
niously in  keeping  it  is  with  Viele's  literary 
method.  He  delighted  in  creating  deli- 
cately fantastic  conditions  lightly  border- 

IX 


INTRODUCTION 

ing  upon  the  impossible;  and,  having  cre- 
ated them,  in  so  re-solving  their  elements 
into  the  seemingly  commonplace  and  the 
apparently  probable  that  the  fine  art  with 
which  he  worked  his  transmutations  was 
veiled  by  the  very  perfection  of  its  accom- 
plishment. 

Such  was  the  method  that  He  employed 
in  the  making  of  what  I  cherish  as  his 
master-piece:  "The  Inn  of  the  Silver 
Moon" — a  story  told  so  simply  and  so  di- 
rectly, and  with  such  a  color  of  engaging 
frankness,  that  each  turn  in  its  series  of 
airily-adjusted  impossible  situations  is  ac- 
cepted with  an  unquestioning  pleasure;  and 
that  leaves  upon  the  mind  of  the  reader 
— even  when  released  from  the  spell  that 
compels  belief  throughout  the  reading  of  it 
— a  lasting  impression  of  verity.  It  was 
the  method,  precisely,  of  an  exquisite  form 
of  literary  art  that  has  not  flowered  more 
perfectly,  I  hold  with  submission,  since  the 
time  of  the  so-called  Romantic  School  in 
Germany:  when  de  la  JMotte  Fouque  cre- 

12 


INTRODUCTION 

ated  "  Undine,"  and  EichendorfF  created 
the  "  Good-f  or-Nothing,"  and  all  the  world 
went  at  a  gay  quick-step  to  bright  soft 
music  that  had  been  silent  for  nearly  three 
hundred  years. 

Beyond  recognizing  the  fact  that  it  is  of 
the  same  genre,  to  class  "  The  Inn  of  the 
Silver  Moon  "  with  "  Undine  "  is  to  belittle 
it  by  an  over-claim;  but  to  class  it  with 
"  Aus  dem  Leben  eines  Tongenichts  "  is  to 
make  a  comparison  in  its  favor :  since  Eich- 
endorif's  happy  ending  is  a  little  forced 
and  a  little  tawdry;  while  Viele's  happy 
ending  is  as  inevitable  as  it  is  gracious — a 
result  flowing  smoothly  from  all  the  pre- 
cedent conditions,  and  so  deftly  revealed  at 
the  crisic  culminating  moment  that  a  per- 
fecting finish  is  given  to  the  delightingly 
perfect  logic  of  its  surprise. 

The  manner  of  the  making  of  the  two 
stories  is  identical;  and  so  is  their  peculiar 
charm.  In  his  preface  to  his  translation  of 
the  "  Good-for-Nothing,"  forty  years  and 
more  ago,  Charles  Godfrey  Leland  wrote: 

1$ 


INTRODUCTION 

"  Lite  a  bird,  tHe  youthful  hero  flits  along 
with  his  music  over  Austria  and  Italy — ' 
as  semi-mysterious  in  his  unpremeditated 
course,  fed  by  chance,  and  as  pleasing  in 
his  artless  character";  which  is  close  to 
being — if  for  artless  we  read  sophisticated 
artlessness — an  accurate  description  of  the 
joint  journeying  of  Monsieur  V if  our  and 
Mademoiselle  de  Belle  Isle,  And  Leland 
added:  "It  is  strikingly  characteristic  of 
the  whole  book  that  it  abounds  in  adroitly- 
hidden  touches  of  art  which  produce  an 
effect  without  betraying  effort  on  the  part 
of  the  writer.  We  are  willing  to  declare 
that  we  never  read  a  story  so  light  and  airy, 
or  one  betraying  so  little  labor;  but  critical 
study  soon  tells  us  quanf  e  difficile  questa 
facilitd!  All  this  ease  is  the  grace  of  a 
true  genius,  who  makes  no  false  steps  and 
has  carefully  estimated  his  own  powers." 
That  description  fits  "  The  Inn  of  the  Sil- 
ver Moon"  to  a  hair! 

In  part,  it  applies  only  a  little  less  closely 
to  "  Myra  of  the  Pines  " — in  which  is  much 

14 


INTRODUCTION 

the  same  gay  irresponsibility  of  motive  and 
of  action ;  the  same  light  touch,  so  sure  that 
each  delicate  point  is  made  with  a  firm 
clearness;  and  the  same  play — save  for  the 
jarring  note  struck  by  the  "  pig-man  " — of 
a  gently  keen  and  a  very  subtle  humour: 
that  maintains  farce  on  the  plane  of  high 
comedy  by  hiding  artful  contrivance  under 
a  seeming  artlessness;  and  that  sparklingly 
crystallizes  into  turns  of  phrase  so  seemingly 
spontaneous  in  their  accurate  appositeness 
that  the  look  of  accident  is  given  to  them 
by  their  carefully  perfected  felicity. 

*'  The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers  "  has 
this  same  humour  and  this  same  happiness 
of  phrasing;  and  in  its  serious  midst  is  set 
the  fantastic  episode  of  "  The  Yellow 
Sleigh  " — that  needs  only  to  be  amplified  to 
become  another  "  Inn  of  the  Silver  Moon." 
But  there  its  resemblance  to  Viele's  other 
stories  ends.  Least  of  all  has  "  The  Inn  of 
the  Silver  Moon  "  anything  in  common  witH 
it.  That  delectable  thistle-down  romance 
goes  trippingly  over  sunbeams  in  a  straight- 

15 


INTRODUCTION 

away  course  that  has  no  intricacies :  with  all 
the  interest  constantly  f  ocussed  upon  a  her- 
oine and  a  hero  to  whom  all  the  other  char- 
acters are  minor  and  accessory;  and  with 
never  a  break  in  the  light-hearted  note  that 
is  struck  at  the  start.  "  The  Last  of  the 
Knickerbockers,"  a  blend  of  comedy  and 
semi-tragedy,  is  far  aw^ay  from  all  this — 
both  in  spirit  and  in  form.  It  is  the  most 
largely  and  the  most  seriously  conceived  of 
Viele's  works:  not  a  romance,  but  a  novel 
with  a  substantial  plot  carefully  developed 
in  intricate  action;  and  while  the  main  in- 
terest is  centred — as  properly  it  should  be 
— ^upon  a  wholly  charming  heroine  and  a 
wholly  satisfying  hero,  these  pleasing  young 
people  are  made  to  know,  and  to  keep,  their 
place  in  a  crowd  of  strong  characters 
strongly  drawn. 

It  is  a  good  story  to  read  simply  as  a 
story;  but  it  is  more  than  that,  it  is  a  docu- 
ment: an  ambered  preservation  of  a  phase 
of  New  York  society  that  already  almost 
has  vanished,  and  that  soon  will  have  van- 

16 


INTRODUCTION 

ished  absolutely — ^when  the  last  Mrs.  and 
Mr.  Bella  Ruggles  shall  have  closed  to  de- 
cayed aristocracy  the  last  shabbily  preten- 
tious boarding  house  in  the  last  dingy  Ken- 
ilworth  Place;  and  when  decayed  aristoc- 
racy, so  evicted,  shall  be  forced  to  dwell  in 
apartment-houses  of  the  bell-and-speaking- 
tube  type,  and  to  dine  (as  Alida  prophet- 
ically put  it)  "  at  Italian  tables-d'hote — 
like  the  Cafe  Chianti,  in  grandfather's  old 
house,  where  they  have  music  and  charge 
only  fifty  cents,  including  wine"! 

So  true  a  presentment  as  this  story  is  of 
New  York's  old-time  strait  faiths  and 
straiter  social  customs  will  outlive  long,  I 
am  confident,  the  great  mass  of  the  fiction 
of  Viele's  day.  It  will  be  actively  alive 
while  even  a  faint  memory  of  those  faiths 
and  customs  is  cherished  by  living  people; 
and  when  all  of  such  ancients  shall  have  re- 
tired (with  the  final  befitting  dignity  at- 
tendant upon  a  special  license)  to  their 
family  homes  beneath  the  shadows  of  St. 
Mark's  and  Trinity,   carrying  their  mem- 

17 


INTRODUCTION 

ones  with  them,  it  will  become,  as  I  have 
said,  a  document:  preserving  the  traditions 
which  otherwise  would  have  been  buried  with 
them;  and  so  linking  permanently — as  they 
linked  temporarily — New  York's  ever-in- 
creasingly  ardent  present  with  its  ever- 
paling  less  strenuous  past. 

As  to  "  The  Inn  of  the  Silver  Moon,"  I 
can  see  no  end  to  the  lastingness  of  it:  since 
in  the  very  essence  of  it  is  that  which  holds 
humanity  with  an  enduringly  binding  spell. 
The  luring  charm  of  a  happy  love-story — 
charged  with  gay  fantasy  and  epigrammatic 
grace  and  gently  pungent  humour — is  a 
charm  perpetual  and  irresistible:  that  must 
hold  and  bind  while  ever  the  world  goes 
happily  in  ever- fresh  sunshine,  and  happily 
has  in  it  ever-fresh  young  hearts. 

Thomas  A.  Janvier. 

New  York, 
June  20,  1909. 


THE  STORY  OF  IGNATIUS,  THE 

ALMONER 


THE  STORY  OF  IGNATIUS,  THE 

ALMONER 

THOUGH  this  happened  at  the 
Butler  Penfields'  garden  party, 
the  results  concern  Miss  Mabel 
Dunbar  more  than  any  one  else, 
except,  perhaps,  one  other.  Mabel  had 
been  invited,  as  she  was  invited  everywhere, 
partly  because  she  was  a  very  pretty  girl, 
and  helped  to  make  things  go,  and  partly 
through  public  policy. 

"  So  long  as  the  dear  child  remains  un- 
married," Mrs.  Fessenden  had  said,  "we 
must  continue  to  buy  our  tea  from  her." 

For  Mabel  owed  her  amber  draperies  to 
the  tea  she  sold  and  everybody  bought  be- 
cause her  grandmother  had  lived  on  Wash- 
ington Square.  In  society,  to  speak  of  tea 
was  to  speak  of  Mabel  Dunbar;  to  look  in 
Mabel's  deep  brown  eyes  was  to  think  of 
tea,  and,  incidentally,  of  cream  and  sugar. 

21' 


DNj    OGHE    LIGHTSHIP. 

"I  used  to  consider  her  clever,"  Mrs. 
Fessenden  remarked,  "until  she  became  so 
popular  with  clever  men.  ...  It  is  really 
most  discouraging.  .  .  .  See,  there  is 
Lena  Livingston,  vrho  has  read  Dante,  pre- 
tending to  talk  to  her  own  brother-in-law, 
while  Mabel,  who  is  not  even  married,  walks 
off  with  Archer  Ferris  and  Horace  Hop- 
worthy,  one  on  each  side." 

"  I  do  wonder  what  she  talks  to  them 
about,"  speculated  Mrs.  Penfield,  and  Mrs, 
Fessenden  repUed: 

"  My  dear,  you  may  depend,  they  do  not 
let  her  talk." 

Mrs.  Penfield  reflected,  while  three  backs, 
two  broad  and  one  slender  and  sinuous  as 
a  tea-plant,  receded  toward  the  shrubbery. 

"  I  wonder  which  one  Mabel  will  come 
back  with?"  she  said. 

"  If  Jack  were  here,  He  would  give  odds 
on  Mr.  Hopworthy,"  replied  Jack's  wife. 

"  Of  course,  Mr.  Hopworthy  is  the  com- 
ing man,"  observed  Mrs.  Penfield.  "  But 
Mr.  Ferris  has  '  arrived.'  " 

22 


ON    ffiHE    LIGHTSHIP. 

"  Yes,"  assented  Mrs.  Fessenden,  "  as 
Jack  says,  he  has  arrived  and  taken  all  the 
rooms.  .  .  .  But,  then,  I  have  great  faith 
in  Mr.  Hopworthy.  You  know  Jack's  aunt 
discovered  him." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Penfield,  "I  remem- 
ber, but,  Clara,  it  was  you  that  introduced 
him." 

"Oh,  that  was  nothing,"  murmured 
Clara.    "  We  were  very  glad " 

"My  two  best  men!"  sighed  Mrs.  Pen- 
field,  her  eyes  upon  the  shrubbery,  where 
nothing  now  was  to  be  seen. 

"  Yes,"  acquiesced  her  friend,  "  but  think 
how  badly  that  last  Ceylon  turned  out." 

Meanwliile,  the  three  had  found  a  cool 
retreat,  an  arbour  sheltered  from  the  sun  and 
open  to  the  air,  wherein  a  rustic  garden 
seat,  a  table  and  a  chair  extended  cordial 
invitations. 

"  Ah,  this  is  just  the  place!  "  cried  Archer 
Ferris.  "  By  shoving  this  seat  along  a 
trifle,  and  putting  this  chair  here,  we  can 
be  very  comfortable." 

2S 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

It  was  noticeable  that  Mr.  Ferris  re- 
tained possession  of  the  chair.  As  for  the 
vacant  place  beside  her  on  the  bench, 
Mabel's  parasol  lay  upon  it.  Mr.  Ferris 
beamed  as  only  the  arrived  can  beam. 

"With  your  permission,  I  will  take  the 
table,"  said  Mr.  Hopworthy,  looking  to 
Miss  Dunbar,  who  smiled.  Mr.  Ferris  be- 
came overcast. 

"I  fear  our  conversation  may  not  inter- 
est you,"  he  told  the  other  man.  "  You 
know,  you  do  not  write  short  stories." 

And  this  was  not  the  first  time  in  the  last 
half  hour  that  Mr.  Ferris  had  offered  Mr. 
Hopworthy  an  opportunity  to  withdraw. 
The  latter  smiled,  a  broad,  expansive  smile. 

"  Oh,  but  I  read  them,"  he  persisted, 
perching  on  the  table.  "  That  is,"  he  added, 
"when  there  is  plot  enough  to  keep  one 
awake." 

Here  Mr.  Ferris  smiled,  or,  rather, 
pouted,  for  his  mouth,  contrasted  with  that 
of  Mr.  Hopworthy,  seemed  child-like,  not 
to  say  cherubic. 

24 


ii 


ON     THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"Plots,"  he  observed,  "are  quite  Victo- 
rian. We  are,  at  least,  decadent,  are  we 
not,  Miss  Mabel?" 

Mabel  smoothed  her  amber  skirt,  and 
tried  to  look  intelligent. 

Oh,  yes,  indeed,"  she  said. 
Now,  there  was  a  story  in  last  week's 
Bee  called  'Ralph  RatclifFe's  Reincarna- 
tion,' "    continued    the    gentleman    on   the 
table.     "Did  you  read  it.  Miss  Dunbar?" 

"  I  laid  it  aside  to  read,"  she  answered, 
with  evasion. 

"  Pray  don't.  It's  in  my  weakest  vein," 
remonstrated  Mr.  Ferris.  "  One  writes 
down  for  the  BeCj,  you  know." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Mr.  Hopworthy,  "  I 
did  not  recognize  the  author's  name  as  one 
of  vours." 

"  No  one  with  fewer  than  twelve  names 
should  call  himself  in  literature,"  the  other 
said,  a  little  vauntingly. 

Mr.  Hopworthy  embraced  his  knee. 

"  The  plot  of  that  story "  he  had  be- 
gun to  say,  when  Mr.  Ferris  interrupted. 

25 


DN    OTHE    LIGHTSHIE 

"There  are  but  seven  plots,"  he  ex- 
plained, "  and  thirty  situations.  To  one 
that  knows  his  trade,  the  outcome  of  a 
story  should  be  from  the  very  beginning  as 
obvious  as  a  properly  opened  game  of 
chess." 

"  How  interesting  it  must  be  to  write," 
put  in  Miss  Dunbar  appreciatively.  Per- 
haps, in  her  simple  way,  she  speculated  as 
to  where  the  present  situation  came  among 
the  thirty,  and  whether  the  sunbeam  she  was 
conscious  of  upon  her  hair  had  any  literary 
value. 

"  Do  you  ever  see  the  Stylus? ''  inquired 
Mr.  Hopworthy,  from  whose  position  the 
sunbeam  could  be  observed  to  best  advan- 
tage. 

"  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Ferris,  through  his 
Boucher  lips,  "  I  may  say  I  am  the  Stylus!' 

"Really!"  cried  the  lady,  though  she 
could  not  have  been  greatly  surprised. 

In  truth,  her  exclamation  veiled  the  ten- 
dency to  yawn  often  induced  in  the  young 
by  objective  conversation.    If  clever  people 

26 


ON,    ffiHE    LIGHTSHIE 

V 

only  knew  a  little  more,  they  would  not  so' 
often  talk  of  stupid  things. 

"Ah,  then  it  is  to  you  we  owe  that  spir- 
ited little  fabliau  called  '  The  Story  of  Ig- 
natius, the  Almoner'?"  remarked  Mr, 
Hopworthy,  almost  indifferently. 

"A  trifle,"  said  the  other;  "what  we 
scribblers  call  '  hack.'  " 

Mr.  Hopworthy's  broad  mouth  con- 
tracted, and  he  might  have  been  observed 
to  suffer  from  some  suppressed  emotion. 

"But  you  wrote  it,  did  you  not?"  he 
asked,  beneath  his  breath. 

"  I  dashed  it  off  in  twenty  minutes,"  said 
the  other. 

"  But  it  was  yours? "  insisted  Mr.  Hop- 
worthy. 

"When  I  wrote  that  little  story " 

said  Mr.  Archer  Ferris. 


(<  < 


The  Story  of  Ignatius,  the  Al- 
moner? ' "  prompted  Mr.  Hopworthy,  with 
unnecessary  insistence. 

"*The    Story    of    Ignatius,    the    Al- 
moner,' "    repeated    Mr.    Ferris,    flushing 

27 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

slightly,  while  Mr.  Hopworthy  seemed  to 
clutch  the  table  to  keep  himself  from  bound- 
ing upward. 

"  I  was  convinced  of  it!  "  he  cried.  "  No 
other  hand  could  have  penned  it.  The 
pith,  the  pathos,  passion,  power,  and  pur- 
pose of  the  tale  were  masterly,  and  yet  it 
was  so  simple  and  sincere,  so  logical,  so 
convincing,  so  inevitable,  so " 

"  Spare  me,"  protested  Mr.  Ferris,  not 
at  all  displeased.  "  But  it  had  a  sort  of 
rudimentary  force,  I  own." 

"And  have  you  read  it.  Miss  Dunbar?" 
inquired  Mr.  Hopworthy,  almost  letting  slip 
one  anchor. 

"No,"  she  replied,  "but  I  have  laid  it 
aside  to  read.  I  shall  do  so  now  with  added 
pleasure." 

"  Unless  the  author  would  consent  to  tell 

it  to  us  in  his  own  inspired  words "  said 

Mr.  Hopworthy,  regarding  his  boot  toe 
with  interest.  Miss  Dunbar  caught  at  the 
suggestion. 

"Oh,  do!"  she  pleaded.  "I  should  so 
love  to  hear  a  story  told  by  the  author." 

28 


<6 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"  An  experience  to  remember,"  murmured 
Mr.  Hopworthy. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  would  be  rather  too  long 
to  tell  this  afternoon,"  demurred  the  author, 
with  a  glance  of  apprehension  toward  the 
sky. 

"  But  you  dashed  it  off  in  twenty  min- 
utes," the  other  man  reminded  him. 

That  is  another  reason,"  said  the  writer. 

Work  done  with  such  rapidity  is  apt  to 
leave  but  a  slight  impression  on  the 
memory." 

"Perhaps  a  little  turn  about  the 
grounds — — "  suggested  Mr.  Hopworthy. 

Miss  Dunbar  had  put  up  her  amber  para- 
sol, and  the  lace  about  it  fell  just  across  her 
eyes.    This  left  the  seat  beside  her  free. 

"Perhaps  a  little  turn "  urged  Mr. 

Hopworthy  again.     Mr.  Ferris  regarded 
him  defiantly. 

"  As  you  have  read  my  story,  sir,"  he  said, 
"  I  can  scarcely  hope  to  include  you  in  my 
audience." 

"  But  it  is  not  at  all  the  sort  of  thing  one 
is  sfifisfied  to  hear  but  once,"  Mr.  Hop- 

29 


ON    TiHE    LIGHTSHIP. 

worthy  declared,  in  a  tone  distinctly  flatter- 
ing,   Mr.  Ferris  moved  uneasily. 

"  I  really  forget  how  it  began,"  he  as- 
serted.   "  Perhaps  another  time " 

"If  I  might  presume  to  jog  your  mem- 
ory— ^ — "  said  Mr.  Hopworthy,  with  defer- 
ence. 

"OH,  that  would  be  delightful!"  ex- 
claimed Miss  Dunbar.  "  With  two  such 
story-tellers,  I  feel  just  like  Lalla  Rookh." 

Mr,  Ferris  was  upon  his  feet  at  once. 

"  I  suggest  we  adjourn  to  the  striped 
tent,"  he  said;  "they  have  all  sorts  of  ices 
there." 

"  Oh,  but  I  mean  the  Princess,  not  frozen 
punch,"  declared  Mabel,  settling  herself 
more  securely  in  the  corner  of  the  garden 
seat.  "  Please  sit  down,  and  begin  by  tell- 
ing me  exactly  what  an  almoner  is," 

Mr.  Ferris  hesitated,  cast  one  glance  to- 
ward the  open  lawn  beyond  the  shrubbery, 
another  to  the  amber  parasol,  and  sat  down 
in  the  other  corner.   Mr.  Hopworthy  slipped 

from  the  table  to  the  vacant  chair. 

so 


ON    SCHE    LIGHTSHIE 

"An  almoner,"  explained  the  Stylus^  in 
as  nearly  an  undertone  as  the  letter  of  cour- 
tesy permitted,  "  is  a  sort  of  treasurer,  you 
know.  •  .  .  In  a  monastery,  you  un- 
derstand. .  .  .  The  monk  who  distrib- 
utes alms  and  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  Oh,  then  it  is  a  mediaeval  story! "  cried 
Mabel.    "  How  delightful !  " 

"  No,  modern,"  corrected  Mr.  Hop- 
worthy. 

"  Modern  in  setting,  though  mediaeval  in 
spirit,"  said  Mr.  Ferris,  taking  off  his  hat. 

"Ah,  that,  indeed!"  breathed  Mr.  Hop- 
worthy.  "I  shall  not  soon  forget  your 
opening  description;  that  picture  of  the  old 
cathedral,  hghted  only  by  the  far,  faint 
flicker  of  an  occasional  taper,  burning  be- 
fore some  shrined  saint.  I  can  see  him  now, 
Ignatius,  the  young  monk,  as  he  moves  in 
silence  from  one  to  another  of  the  alms- 
boxes,  gathering  into  his  leathern  bag  the 
offerings  that  have  been  deposited  by  the 
faithful." 

"  I  think  he  had  a  light,"  suggested  the 

31 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

author  of  short  stories,  who  was  listening, 
critically. 

Of  course;  a  flaming  torch." 
How  sweet  of  him! "  Mabel  murmured, 
and  Mr.  Hopworthy  went  on. 

"There  were  twelve  boxes — were  there 
not? — ^upon  as  many  pillars,  and  in  each  box, 
in  addition  to  the  customary  handful  of  cop- 
per souSj,  there  lay,  as  I  recall  it,  a  silver 
com 

"  You  will  perceive  the  symbolism,"  the 
author  whispered. 

"  It  is  perfect,"  sighed  Mabel. 

"Never  had  such  a  thing  occurred  be- 
fore," continued  Mr.  Hopworthy,  who  ap- 
peared to  know  the  story  very  w^ell,  "  and 
in  the  solitude  of  his  cell,  Ignatius  sat  for 
hours  contemplating  the  riches  that  had  so 
strangely  come  into  his  hand.  His  first 
thought  was  of  the  poor,  to  whom,  of  right, 
the  ahns  belonged ;  but,  when  he  recalled  the 
avarice  of  The  Abbots  his  heart  misgave 
him " 

"  Rather  a  strildng  situation,  I  thought," 

S2 


ON    SHE    LIGHTSHIP 

remarked  the  writer.  "  Go  on  a  little  fur- 
ther, please." 

"  I  wish  I  could,"  said  Mr.  Hopworthy, 
"  but  this  is  where  your  keen  analysis  comes 
in,  your  irresistible  logic.  I  confess  you  went 
a  shade  beyond  my  radius  of  thought." 

"  Perhaps,"  admitted  the  other.  "  Very 
likely."  But  he  had  now  caught  the  spirit 
of  his  own  production,  and,  turning  to  his 
neighbor,  he  went  on  to  explain : 

"My  purpose  was  to  present  a  problem, 
to  suggest  a  conflict  of  emotions,  quite  in 
the  manner  of  Huysmans.  Should  The  Ah- 
hot,  who  is  but  the  type  of  sordid  wisdom, 
be  consulted,  or  should  The  Almoner,  sym- 
bolizing self,  obey  the  higher  call  of  elemen- 
tary impulse?" 

"And  which  did  Ignatius  do?"  Mabel 
asked. 

"  I  fear  you  fail  to  catch  my  meaning," 
said  the  author.  "  It  is  the  soul-struggle  we 
are  analyzing " 

"  But  he  must  have  come  to  some  conclu- 
sion? " 

S3 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"  Not  necessarily/'  said  Mr.  Ferris, 
gravely.    "  A  soul-struggle  is  continuous,  it 

goes  on "  Mr.  Ferris  waved  his  white 

hand  toward  infinity. 

"  But  did  not  Ignatius  decide  to  put  the 
money  where  it  would  do  the  most  good?" 
inquired  Mr.  Hopworthy. 

"  The  phrase  is  yours,"  responded  Mr. 
Ferris,  "  but  it  conveys  my  meaning 
dimly." 

"As  I  recall  the  story,"  the  other  went 
on,  "  he  resolved  to  sacrifice  his  own  preju- 
dices to  the  service  of  his  fellow-creatures. 
But,  when  he  thought  of  all  who  stood  in 
need — the  peasants  tilling  the  fields,  the  sail- 
ors on  the  sea,  the  soldiers  in  the  camp — he 
decided  that  it  would  be  better  to  confine  the 
benefit  to  one  deserving  object." 

"  A  very  sensible  decision,"  Mabel  opined, 
and  Mr.  Ferris  muttered: 

"  Yes,  that  was  my  idea." 

As  the  voices  of  the  garden  came  to  them 
on  the  summer  breeze,  he  made  a  movement 
to  consult  his  watch. 

34 


ON  lXHE  lightship 

'*  You  see  my  little  problem,"  he  observed. 
"  The  rest  is  immaterial." 

"  But  I  so  liked  the  part  where  the  young 
monk,  filled  with  his  noble  purpose,  stole 
from  the  monastery  by  night,"  said  Mr. 
Hopworthy.  "  Ah,  there  was  a  touch  of 
realism." 

"I'm  glad  you  fancied  it,"  replied  the 
author,  relapsing  into  silence. 

Mabel  tapped  the  gravel  with  her  foot; 
it  is  strange  how  audible  a  trifling  sound  be- 
comes at  times. 

"  Please  tell  me  what  He  did,"  she  begged. 
"  I  never  heard  a  story  in  which  so  little 
happened." 

The  writer  of  short  stories  bit  his  full  red 
lip,  and  sat  erect. 

"The  young  monk  waited  till  the  house 
was  wrapped  in  sleep,"  he  said,  almost  de- 
fiantly, it  seemed.  "  Then,  drawing  the 
great  bolt,  he  went  out  into  the  night.  The 
harvest  moon  was  in  the  sky,  and " 

"  It  rained,  I  think,"  suggested  Mr.  Hop- 
worthy. 

$5 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"  No  matter  if  it  did,"  rejoined  the  other. 
"  Unmindful  of  the  elements,  he  wound  his 
cowl  about  him,  and  pressed  on,  fearlessly, 
into  the  forest,  hearing  nothing,  seeing  noth- 
ing. Mile  after  mile  he  strode — and  strode 
— and  strode— until — ^until — it  was  time  to 
return " 

"  You  forget  the  peasant  festival," 
prompted  Mr.  Hopworthy. 

"  Festival? "  said  Mr.  Ferris.  "  Ah,  that 
was  a  mere  episode,  intended  to  give  a  sense 
of  contrast." 

"Of  course,"  Mr.  Hopworthy  assented. 
"  How  frivolous  beside  his  own  austere  life 
appeared  these  rustic  revels.  How  calm,  by 
contrast,  was  the  quiet  of  the  cloister " 

"Yes,"  Mr.  Ferris  took  up  the  screed, 
"  and,  as  from  a  distance  he  watched  their 
clumsy  merriment,  he — ^he — ^he " 

"  He  determined  to  have  just  one  dance 
for  luck,"  assisted  Mr.  Hopworthy. 

Perhaps  the  author,  thus  hearing  the  story 
from  another,  detected  here  some  flaw  of 
logic,  for  he  did  not  proceed  at  once,  al- 

S6 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

though  Miss  Dunbar  waited  with  the  most 
encouraging  interest.  The  momentary 
pause  was  put  to  flight  by  Mr.  Hopworthy. 

"  Ah,  Zola  never  did  anything  more  dar- 
ing," he  declared.  "  Even  Zola  might  have 
hesitated  to  make  Ignatius  change  clothes 
with  the  intoxicated  soldier,  and  leaping  into 
the  middle  of  the  ballroom,  shout  that  every 
glass  must  be  filled  to  the  brim." 

"  Hold  on!  "  gasped  Mr.  Ferris.  "  There 
must  be  some  mistake.  I  swear  I  never 
wrote  anything  like  that  in  my  life." 

"But  you  have  admitted  it!"  the  other 
cried.  "  You  cannot  conceal  it  from  us  now. 
You  are  grand.    You  are  sublime!" 

"I  deny  it  absolutely,"  returned  Mr. 
Ferris. 

"  Please  stop  discussing,  and  let  me  hear 
the  rest,"  Mabel  pouted.  "  Do  go  on,  Mr. 
Ferris." 

"  I  can't,"  said  Mr.  Ferris,  sadly.    "  My 
story  has  been  garbled  by  the  printer." 
But  the  waltz,"  urged  Mr.  Hopworthy. 

Surely,  that  waltz  was  yours." 

37 


ON    .THE    LIGHTSHIP 

Perhaps  once  more  the  ki*esistible  logic 
of  events  became  apparent,  for,  with  an  ef- 
fort, Mr.  Ferris  said: 

"Oh,  yes,  that  waltz  was  mine.  Enrap- 
tured by  its  strains,  and  giddy  with  the 
fumes  of  wine,  The  Almoner  floated  in  a 
dream  of  sensuous  delight  till  suddenly  he 
recalled — suddenly  he  recalled " 

"  If  you  will  pardon  another  interrup- 
tion," put  in  Mr.  Hopworthy,  "  he  did  noth- 
ing of  the  sort.  Suddenly,  as  you  must 
remember,  word  was  brought  that  The  Ah- 
hot  was  dead,  and  that  Ignatius  had  been 
elected  in  his  place." 

"  You  spoil  my  climax,  sir,"  the  au- 
thor cried.  "Dashing  the  wine  cup  from 
his  lips,  Ignatius  then  rushed  into  the 
night— — " 

"But  he  could  not  find  the  soldier  any- 
where," Mr.  Hopworthy  interposed. 

"Why  should  he  want  to  find  the  con- 
founded soldier?"  demanded  the  narrator, 
fiercely. 

"Why,  to  get  his  cowl,  of  course." 

38 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"  Splendid  1"  exclaimed  Mabel,  clapping 
her  hands. 

*'  He — he "    the   author    stammered, 

and  again  the  other  lent  a  friendly  tongue 
to  say: 

^^  Ignatius  returned  to  the  monastery  at 
once.  And  what  should  he  discover  there 
but  The  Soldier  J  seated  in  the  chair  of  office, 
presiding  at  the  council.  But,  see  here,  old 
chap,  perhaps  you  had  better  finish  your 
own  story  yourself?" 

"  Sir!"  cried  the  author,  springing  to  his 
feet.  "  I  detect  your  perfidy,  and  I  call  this 
about  the  shabbiest  trick  one  gentleman  ever 
attempted  to  play  upon  another.  I  shall 
not  hesitate  to  denounce  you  far  and 
wide  as  one  capable  of  the  smallest  mean- 
ness!" 

"  That  is  what  The  "Almoner  told  The  Sol- 
dier/' Mr.  Hopworthy  explained  to  Mabel, 
in  a  whisper,  but  the  other,  becoming  almost 
violent,  went  on: 

**  You  are  unfit,  sir,  to  associate  with  peo- 
ple of  refinement,  and,  when  I  meet  you 

39 


ON    .THE    LIGHTSHIP 

alone,  it  will  give  me  a  lively  satisfaction 
to  repeat  the  observation ! " 

"  That  is  what  The  Soldier  replied  to  The 
'Almoner f'  Mr.  Hop  worthy  again  explained. 
But  the  other  gentleman  had  lifted  his  hat, 
and  was  moving  rapidly  toward  the  striped 
tent,  where  ices  were  to  be  had. 

"  I  shall  never  forgive  him  for  leaving  the 
story  unfinished,"  announced  the  lady  of 
the  bench.  "  And,  don't  you  think  his  man- 
ner toward  the  end  was  rather  strange?" 

Mr,  Hopworthy  sighed,  and  shook  his 
head. 

"  Those  magazine  men  are  all  a  trifle 
odd,"  he  said.  "  Does  not  that  parasol  fa- 
tigue your  hand? " 

"  Yes,  you  may  hold  it,  if  you  like,"  she 
answered.  "  I  am  glad  everybody  does  not 
tell  stories." 


m 


THE   DEAD    MAN'S    CHEST 


^^ 


THE  DEAD  MAN'S  CHEST 

ONE  May  morning  in  the  brave 
year  1594,  Mistress  Betty 
Hodges,  from  the  threshold 
of  the  narrowest  house  in  the 
narrowest  of  the  narrow  streets  in  the  an- 
cient parish  of  St.  Helen's,  Bishopsgate, 
observed  with  more  than  passing  interest 
the  movements  of  a  gentleman  in  black. 

"Whist,  neighbor!"  she  called  outi  to 
Mistress  Judd,  whose  portly  person  well- 
nigh  filled  a  kindred  doorway  just  across 
the  street.  "  Yonder  stranger  should  be  by 
every  sign  in  quest  of  lodgings,  and  by  my 
horoscope  this  is  a  day  most  favorable  for 
affairs  of  business.  I  pray  thee,  get  thy 
knitting,  lest  he  take  us  for  no  better  than 
a  pair  of  idle  gossips." 

"  In  faith,"  retorted  Mistress  Judd,  fold- 
ing her  arms  complacently  after  a  side 
glance  in  the  loiterer's  direction,  "an  he 

'43 


ON    IHE    LIGHTSHIP 

should  ever  lodge  with  thee  let  us  hope 
his  shillings  prove  more  nimble  than  his 
feet." 

The  gentleman  indeed  advanced  with 
much  deliberation,  pausing  from  time  to 
time  to  look  about  him  as  a  man  who  bal- 
ances advantages  and  disadvantages  one 
against  the  other.  It  was  a  quaint  old-man- 
nered thoroughfare  he  moved  in;  a  crooked 
street  of  overhanging  eaves  and  jutting 
gable  ends  which  nearly  met  against  the 
sky;  a  shadowy,  sunless,  damp,  ill-savored 
street,  paved  with  round  pebbles  and  divided 
in  the  middle  by  a  trickling  stream  of  unat- 
tractive water.  For  London,  still  in  happy, 
dirty  infancy,  had  yet  to  learn  her  lessons 
at  the  hands  of  those  grim  teachers,  plague 
and  fire. 

"  A  proper  man  enough! "  Mistress  Judd 
added,  "  though  I'll  warrant  over-cautious 
and  of  no  great  quality.  To  me  he  looks 
a  traveling  leech." 

"  Better  a  country  student  of  divinity," 
suggested  Mistress  Hodges. 

44 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"  Or  better,  a  minor  cleric,  or  at  best  some 
writing-master,"  Mistress  Judd  opined. 

"  Please  God,  then  he  can  read,"  rejoined 
her  neighbor,  already  debating  within  her- 
self a  small  advance  of  rent.  '*  Mayhap  he 
might  acquaint  me  whether  those  rolls  of 
paper  left  by  Master  Christopher  in  his 
oaken  chest  be  worth  the  ten  shillings  he 
died  owing  me." 

"  An  they  would  fetch  as  many  pence," 
sniffed  Mistress  Judd,  "our  master  poet 
had  long  ago  resolved  them  into  Malmsey." 

"  Nay,  speak  not  harshly  of  the  dead," 
protested  Mistress  Hodges,  conveying  fur- 
tively a  corner  of  her  apron  to  one  eye. 
"  Marry,  if  Master  Kit  did  sometimes  sing 
o'  nights  'twas  but  to  keep  the  watch  awake. 
I'd  wipe  my  shutter  clean  and  willingly  to 
hear  his  merry  catch  again.  Ah,  he  was  ever 
free  with  money  when  he  had  it.  And  'twas 
a  pleasure  to  see  him  with  his  bottle.  In 
faith,  he'd  speak  to  it  and  kiss  it  as  a  woman 
would  her  child." 

"And  kiss  it  he  did  once  too  often,  to 

45 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

my  thinking/'  murmured  Mistress  Judd  un- 
sympathetically,  "  the  night  he  got  to  brawl- 
ing in  the  street  and  met  his  death." 

"  Marry,  he  was  no  brawler,"  Mistress 
Hodges  protested  warmly,  "  but  ever  cheer- 
fullest  when  most  in  drink.  They  were 
thieving  knaves  who  set  upon  him,  and,  God 
be  good  to  sinners,  ran  him  through  the 
heart  before  the  poor  young  man  could  so 
much  as  recite  a  couplet  to  prove  himself  a 
poet." 

"  How  thinkst  thou  poetry  would  save 
him?"  Mistress  Judd  demanded  curtly. 

"  Marry,  come  up !  What  thief  would 
kill  a  poet  for  his  purse? "  cried  Mistress 
Hodges.  "  Quick,  neighbor,  get  thy  knit- 
ting 1"  she  added  hurriedly,  and  catching  up 
a  pewter  plate  began  to  polish  with  her 
apron  as  the  stranger,  attracted  by  their 
chatter,  quickened  his  pace. 

He  was  a  slight  man,  apparently  of  thirty 
or  thereabout,  with  deep-set,  penetrating 
eyes  and  a  lean  face  ending  in  the  short, 
sharp,  pointed  beard  in  fashion  at  the  time. 

46 


ON    .THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"  Give  you  good-morrow,  dames,"  he  said, 
when  within  speaking  distance;  "can  you 
direct  me  to  some  proper  lodging  here- 
about?" 

Mistress  Hodges  dropped  a  deeper  cour- 
tesy to  draw  attention  to  herself  as  the  per- 
son of  most  importance. 

In  truth  an't  please  you,  sir,"  she  said, 

tis  my  good  fortune  to  have  this  moment 
ready  for  your  worship  the  fairest  chambers 
to  be  had  in  all  the  town  at  four  and  six 
the  week.  Gentility  itself  could  ask  no  bet- 
ter, for  doth  not  the  Lord  Mayor  live  around 
the  corner  in  his  newly  purchased  Crosby 
Hall,  the  tallest  house  in  London,  and  near 
at  hand  do  not  the  gardens  of  Sir  John 
Gresham  stretch  from  Bishopsgate  to  Broad 
Street  like  a  park?  And  if  one  would  seek 
recreation,  'tis  not  five  minutes  to  Cornhill, 
which  is  amusing  as  a  fair  o'  pleasant  even- 
ings, with  the  jugglers  and  peddlers  and 
goldsmiths  and " 

"Ah,  by  my  faith,"  the  stranger  inter- 
rupted gravely,  "  I  should  seek  elsewhere, 

47 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

for  I  am  not  a  man  born  under  Sol,  that 
loveth  honor,  nor  under  Jupiter,  that  loveth 
business,  for  the  contemplative  planet  car- 
rieth  me  away  wholly." 

"An  you  be  disposed  toward  contempla- 
tion," interposed  Mistress  Hodges,  quickly, 
"  there  can  be  found  no  purer  place  in  Lon- 
don for  such  diversion  than  is  my  second 
story  back.  From  thence  one  may  contem- 
plate at  will  either  the  almhouse  gardens  and 
the  woodland  beyond  Houndsditch,  or  the 
turrets  of  the  Tower  itself,  in  winter  when 
the  leaves  are  gone." 

"  Please  Heaven  the  leaves  are  thick  at 
present  1 "  said  the  stranger  with  a  grim  half 
smile.  "  Nevertheless,  I  have  a  mind  to 
look  from  your  back  windows.  The  alms- 
house gardens  may  at  least  teach  one  resig- 
nation." 

"  Enter  an't  please  you,  sir,"  replied  the 
landlady  with  a  low  obeisance. 

The  stranger  made  a  close  inspection  of 
the  chamber,  peering  into  cupboards,  testing 
the  bed  and  stools  and  chairs,  and  finally 

48 


ON  TjHE  lightship 

pausing  before  a  small  oak  box  secluded  in 
a  corner. 

"'Tis  but  a  chest  of  papers  left  by  my 
last  lodger,  one  Master  Christopher,"  Mis- 
tress Hodges  explained,  adding,  "  A  poet, 
sir,  an't  please  you,  who  was  slain  by  high- 
waymen, and  I  know  not  if  his  lines  be  fitted 
for  honest  ears  to  hear,  though,  an  one  might 
believe  it,  they  have  been  spoken  in  the  pub- 
lic play-house.  Think  you,"  she  added, 
raising  the  lid  of  the  chest  to  disclose  a 
dozen  manuscripts  or  more,  bound  together 
with  bits  of  broken  doublet  lacing,  ''  the  lot 
would  bring  as  much  as  ten  shillings  at  the 
rag  fair? " 

The  stranger  laughed  and  shook  his  head. 

"  'Tis  a  great  price  for  any  dead  man's 
thoughts,"  he  said,  taking  up  a  package  at 
random  and  hastily  turning  over  the  leaves, 
while  Mistress  Hodges  regarded  him  anx- 
iously. His  interest  deepened  as  he  read, 
and  presently  his  eyes  devoured  page  af- 
ter page,  oblivious  of  the  other's  pres- 
ence. 

49 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"  In  truth,"  he  said  at  length,  "there  be 
lines  not  wholly  without  merit," 

"And  pray  you,  sir,  what  is  the  matter 
they  set  forth? "  the  landlady  ventured  to 
inquire. 

"  This  seems  the  story  of  a  ghost  returned 
to  earth  to  make  discovery  of  his  murder — " 
the  stranger  was  beginning  to  explain,  but 
Mistress  Hodges  checked  him. 

"Marry!"  she  cried,  "such  things  be 
profanations  and  heresy  against  the  Prot- 
estant religion,  which  Heaven  defend. 
Marry,  'twould  go  ill  with  the  poor  woman 
who  should  offer  such  idolatries  for  sale," 

More  protestations  followed,  prompted, 
no  doubt,  by  fear  lest  disloyalty  to  the  domi- 
nant party  be  charged  against  her ;  to  prove 
her  detestation  of  the  documents  she  de- 
clared her  purpose  to  burn  the  last  of  them 
unread, 

"  Still  better,  shift  responsibility  to  me," 
suggested  the  stranger,  smiling  grimly  at 
her  zeal,  "  Sell  me  the  lot  for  two  shillings 
and  sixpence,  and  my  word  for  it  the  trans- 

^0 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

action  shall  be  kept  a  secret.  The  reading 
of  these  idle  fancies  will  serve  as  a  relaxa- 
tion from  my  own  employment." 

"Marry,  they  shall  be  yours  and  will- 
ingly," cried  the  woman,  glad  to  be  rid  of 
dangerous  property  on  such  generous  terms. 
And  it  was  thus  that  the  stranger  became 
possessor  of  the  chest  of  manuscripts.  His 
bargaining  for  the  lodgings  proved  him  a 
man  of  thrift  to  the  point  of  meanness,  a 
quality  not  to  be  despised  in  lodgers,  for, 
as  Mistress  Hodges  often  said  to  Mistress 
Judd,  "  Gentlemen  are  ever  most  liberal  who 
least  mean  to  pay."  In  answer  to  reasonable 
inquiries  he  would  say  no  more  than,  "  My 
predecessor  was  known  as  Master  Christo- 
pher; let  me  be,  therefore.  Master  Francis, 
a  poor  scholar  w^ho  promises  only  to  take 
himself  off  before  his  purse  is  empty." 

The  new  lodger  entered  into  possession 
of  his  chamber  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day 
on  which  he  saw  it  first.  His  luggage, 
brought  thither  by  two  porters  on  a  single 
barrow,  and  consisting  chiefly  of  books  and 

51 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

manuscripts,  proved  him  to  be  the  humble 
student  he  had  represented  himself,  and  in 
a  week  his  neighbors  were  agreed  in  rating 
him  a  rather  commonplace  recluse.  His  days 
were  spent  in  reverie  by  the  open  window 
or  in  writing  at  the  parchment-littered  table. 
If  he  stirred  abroad  at  all  it  was  but  for  an 
hour  in  the  long  twilight  after  supper,  and 
his  candle  rarely  burned  later  than  ten 
o'clock.  It  was  not  until  a  fortnight  had 
gone  by  that  Mistress  Hodges  had  the  satis- 
faction of  announcing  a  visitor. 

"  Come  in ! "  cried  Master  Francis,  re- 
sponding to  her  knock  at  his  chamber  door, 
and  not  a  little  surprised  by  a  summons  so 
unusual,  for  the  remnants  of  his  supper  had 
been  removed,  and  he  was  himself  preparing 
for  his  evening  stroll. 

"  A  gentleman  attends  below,  an't  please 
you,  sir,"  she  announced,  entering  hurriedly. 

"  Impossible!  "  her  lodger  protested,  "  for 
how  should  a  visitor  inquire  for  one  who  has 


no  name? 


? » 


By  your  description,  an't  please  you, 

52 


ON     THE     LIGHTSHIP 

sir,"  replied  the  woman.  "  He  drew  you  to 
the  life.  By  mj^  faith,  there  could  be  no 
mistake,  and  when  he  said  you  might  be 
known  as  Master  Francis  how  could  I  but 
admit  him?  Grand  gentleman  that  he  is, 
with  a  servant  at  his  heels  and  half  a  score 
of  varlets  waiting  within  call!  " 

Master  Francis  bit  his  li^:)  and  moved  im- 
patiently about  the  room. 

"  Go  tell  this  grand  gentleman  that  you 
were  wrong,"  he  said.  "  Tell  him  I  was  re- 
quested out  to  supper  at  half  an  hour  before 
seven.  Tell  him  what  falsehood  slips  most 
easily  from  your  tongue,  and  as  you  are  a 
woman,  tell  it  truthfully." 

"  'T would  not  avail,  for  even  now  your 
visitor,  grown  impatient,  mounts  the  stair," 
replied  the  hostess,  w^hile  a  heavy  footfall 
coming  every  moment  nearer  testified  to  the 
truth  of  her  assertion. 

"  Then  off  vvith  vou  and  let  us  be  alone," 
commanded  Master  Francis,  stopping  reso- 
lutely in  his  walk,  while  Mistress  Hodges 
in  the  doorway  found  herself  thrust  uncere- 

5^ 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

moniously  aside  to  give  place  to  a  dignified 
man  in  middle  life.  The  visitor's  dress  was 
black,  relieved  only  by  a  broad  white  ruif , 
yet  of  so  rich  a  quality  that  the  appoint- 
ments of  the  room  descended  in  the  scale 
from  homeliness  to  shabbiness  by  contrast. 
But  apparently  he  concerned  himself  no 
more  with  the  apartment  than  with  Mistress 
Hodges. 

"  How  now,  nephew?  "  he  began  at  once. 
**  What  means  this  hiding  like  a  hedgehog 
in  a  hole?" 

Master  Francis  bowed  with  almost  servile 
deference  and  clasped  his  hands,  making  at 
the  same  time  a  gesture  with  his  foot  in- 
tended to  convey  to  Mistress  Hodges  an  in- 
timation that  she  was  free  to  go. 

"  My  uncle,  this  is  far  too  great  an  honor 
that  you  pay  me,"  he  said,  when  the  landlady 
had  closed  the  door  behind  her. 

"Odsblood!  For  once,  I  hear  the  truth 
from  you.  Why  have  you  left  your  cham- 
bers in  Gray's  Inn  for  this? "  the  other  an- 
swered with  a  movement  of  the  nostrils  as 

54 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP. 

though  the  whole  environment  was  compre- 
hended in  a  whiff  of  Mistress  Hodges'  mut- 
ton broth. 

"In  truth,  most  gracious  kinsman,"  the 
younger  man  rejoined,  "  since  my  exclusion 
from  the  Court  some  certain  greasy  bailiffs 
have  favored  me  with  their  company  a  trifle 
over  often,  nor  had  I  otherwhere  to  go  while 
waiting  for  a  fitting  opportunity  to  recall 
myself  to  your  lordship's  memory," 

"  And  pray  you,  to  what  end?  "  the  other 
asked  impatiently. 

"  You  are  not  ignorant,  uncle,  of  the  state 
of  my  poor  fortune,"  said  the  scholar. 

"  No,"  was  the  answer,  "  nor  can  you  be 
forgetful,  nephew,  of  my  efforts  in  the  past 
to  mend  that  fortune," 

"  For  all  of  which  believe  me  truly  grate- 
ful," responded  Master  Francis  with  a  touch 
of  irony,  "  'Tis  to  your  gracious  favor  that 
I  owe  my  appointment  to  the  reversion  of 
the  Clerkship  of  the  Star  Chamber,  worth 
sixteen  hundred  pounds  a  year,  provided  that 
I,  a  weak  man,  survive  in  poverty  a  strong 

55 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

affluence.  'Tis  like  another  man's  ground 
buttaling  upon  his  house,  which  may 
mend  his  prospect  but  does  not  fill  his 
barn." 

The  other,  crossing  to  the  open  window, 
half  seated  himself  upon  the  sill,  folding  his 
arms  while  ^xing  disapproving  eyes  on  his 
nephew's  face. 

"  This  attitude  becomes  you  not  at  all," 
he  said.  "Through  me  you  were  returned 
to  Parliament,  and  through  me  you  might 
have  been  advanced  to  profitable  office  had 
you  not  seen  fit  to  antagonize  the  JMinistry, 
opposing,  for  the  sake  of  paltry  public  fa- 
vour, that  four  years'  subsidy  of  which  the 
Treasury  stood  in  dire  need  to  meet  the  Pop- 
ish plots." 

"  I  sought  to  shield  the  ISIinistry  and 
Crown  from  public  disapproval,"  replied 
Master  Francis.  "  The  country  in  my  judg- 
ment was  not  able  to  endure  the  tax." 

"  'Tw^as  most  presumptuous  to  set  up  your 
judgment  against  that  of  your  betters,"  said 
the  other.    "  Your  part  is  plain.     This  act 

56 


ON  lThe   lightship. 

of  yours  must  be  forgotten.  It  must  be 
known  that  you  have  once  for  all  abandoned 
public  life  for  study.  Publish  some  learned 
disquisition  upon  what  you  will.  Absent 
yourself  from  town,  and  in  a  twelvemonth, 
perhaps,  or  less  if  things  go  well " 

"A  twelvemonth!"  cried  Master  Fran- 
cis. "  Unless  my  pockets  be  replenished  I 
shall  have  starved  to  death  by  early  sum- 
mer." 

The  gentleman  upon  the  window-sill  re- 
mained for  a  space  silent  with  knitted  brows. 
Presently  he  said: 

"  I  shall  arrange  to  pay  you  an  allowance, 
small,  but  sufficient  for  your  needs,  upon 
condition  that  you  go  at  once  to  France, 
where  you  already  have  acquaintances." 

"It  may  be  you  are  right,  my  lord,"  re- 
sponded Master  Francis,  "  but  it  suits  my 
humor  not  at  all  to  exile  mj^self,  and  be- 
fore accepting  your  offer  grant  me  permis- 
sion to  speak  to  the  Earl  of  Essex.  He  has 
the  favor  of  the  Queen." 

The  other  laughed  a  scornful  laugh,  and 

57 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

rising  deliberately  drew  on  a  glove  he  had 
been  holding  in  one  hand. 

"Enough!"  he  said.  "Depend  on  Es- 
sex's favor  with  the  Queen  and  follow  him 
to  the  Tower  in  good  time." 

"But,  uncle,  give  me  your  kind  permis- 
sion at  least  to  speak  with  him." 

"  My  kind  permission  and  my  blessing !  " 
the  uncle  answered  suavely,  moving  toward 
the  door.  With  his  hand  upon  the  latch  he 
stood  to  add,  across  his  shoulder,  "  You  are 
behind  the  times  in  news,  nephew.  Three 
days  ago  my  Lord  of  Essex  departed  some- 
what suddenly  for  his  estates — upon  a  hunt- 
ing expedition,  it  is  said,  though  beldame 
Rumor  will  insist  that  our  most  gracious 
Queen  hath  turned  the  icy  eye  at  last  upon 
his  fawning." 

"A  morning  frost! "  cried  Master  Fran- 
cis with  a  gesture.  "A  frost  that  the  re- 
curring sun  of  pity  turns  full  soon  to  ten- 
der dew.  But  'tis  a  chill  of  which  to  take 
advantage.  Let  me  but  follow  my  peevish 
lord  to  his  retirement,  lock  in  my  humble 

58 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

cause  with  his,  and  in  due  season  claim  the 
meet  reward  of  faithful  service." 

His  manner  had  grown  so  earnest  that 
the  other  turned  to  listen,  albeit  with  a  smile 
of  contempt. 

"  Look  you,  uncle,"  the  younger  man  went 
on,  "  were  I  to  start  at  once,  travelling  in 
modest  state,  yet  as  befitting  the  nephew  of 
the  Lord  Treasurer  of  England,  well 
mounted  and  attended  by  a  single  man-serv- 
ant, the  whole  adventure  might  be  managed 
for  a  matter  of  one  hundred  pounds." 

"  Good!  "  cried  the  other  with  suspiciously 
ready  acquiescence.  "  Thou  art  in  verity  a 
diplomat.  By  all  means  put  your  fortunes 
to  the  test,  and  when  you  have,  acquaint  me 
with  the  issue." 

He  turned  and  once  more  laid  a  hand 
upon  the  latch. 

"  But,"  protested  Master  Francis,  "  I 
have  still  to  find  the  hundred  pounds ^" 

"A  riddle  for  diplomacy  to  solve!"  re- 
plied the  Lord  Treasurer  of  England, 
laughing  sardonically.     "  I  can  tell  you  no 

59 


ON    tXHE    LIGHTSHIP 

more  than  that  you  shall  not  find  it  in  my 
purse!  "  And  so  saying,  he  strode  from  the 
room,  leaving  the  door  wide  open. 

For  many  minutes  Master  Francis  paced 
the  floor,  muttering  to  himself,  now  angry 
imprecations  at  his  own  folly,  now  curses  on 
the  relentless  arrogance  of  the  Lord  Treas- 
urer. As  the  long  twilight  of  the  season  fell 
he  caught  up  his  wide-brimmed  hat  and 
hurried  from  the  house. 

He  took  his  way  through  narrow  winding 
streets,  and  after  several  turnings  came  at 
length  to  one  much  wider,  a  thoroughfare 
lined  with  little  shops,  whose  owners  when 
not  occupied  with  customers  stood  on  their 
thresholds  soliciting  the  patronage  of  pass- 
ers-by. 

"What  do  you  lack? "  they  cried;  "hats, 
shoes,  or  hosiery;  gloves,  ruff*s,  or  farthin- 
gales?" each  setting  forth  the  value  of  his 
wares  in  frantic  effort  to  outshout  competi- 
tors. Along  the  pavement  worthy  citizens 
sauntered  with  wives  and  sweethearts,  or 

stood    in    interested    groups    about    some 

60 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

mountebank  or  maker  of  music  performing 
upon  several  ill-tuned  instruments  at  once. 
On  a  patch  of  trodden  grass  young  men 
played  noisy  games  of  bowls  until  a  gilded 
coach  in  passing  wantonly  destroyed  their 
goal.  Here  a  bout  with  single-stick  was  in 
progress,  there  a  contest  with  bare  fists 
which  must  have  grown  serious  had  not  the 
watch  arrived  in  time  to  separate  the  bel- 
ligerents with  their  pikes.  But  the  centre 
of  most  interest  was  a  seafaring  man  who 
smoked  a  long-stemmed  pipe  w^ith  rather 
ostentatious  unconcern.  The  men  regarded 
him  with  furtive  admiration,  the  women  dis- 
approvingly, while  children  ran  to  catch  a 
whiff  of  the  strange  aromatic  scent.  When 
he  blew  puffs  of  vapor  from  his  nostrils 
everybody  laughed. 

Master  Francis,  moving  Hastily  aside  to 
make  way  for  the  smoker  and  his  escort, 
came  into  collision  with  a  man  of  his  own 
age,  whose  broad  good-humored  face 
showed  due  appreciation  of  the  scene. 

"What  think  you,  friend?"  the  stranger 

61 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

asked,  laughing.  "  Will  this  new  savagery; 
become  an  institution?  Have  we  been  at 
such  pains  to  banish  smoke  from  our 
churches  only  to  turn  our  heads  into  cen- 
sers? Mayhap  this  be  another  PopisK 
plot?" 

"It  seems  to  me  a  bit  of  arrant  folly,'* 
Master  Francis  answered  somewhat  list- 
lessly, "  and  as  such,  certain  to  become  the 
rage." 

"  They  tell  us  it  will  prolong  the  life," 
went  on  the  other,  "  for  it  is  well  known  a 
herring  when  smoked  outlasts  a  fresh 
one." 

"  Say  rather  he  who  smokes  will  live  the 
longer  because  the  wise  die  young,"  re- 
torted Master  Francis,  pleased  by  the  con- 
ceit. 

"  At  least,"  remarked  the  stranger,  "  the 
fashion  will  make  trade  for  fairy  chimney- 
sweeps." 

Some  further  conversation  followed  nat- 
urally, for  Master  Francis,  weary  of  his 
own  society,  was  in  the  mood  to  welcome 

6d 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

any  companionship,  and,  moreover,  the  new- 
comer, who  seemed  a  man  of  understanding'^ 
met  another's  eyes  too  frankly  to  leave  the 
question  of  his  honesty  in  doubt.  They 
spoke  of  tobacco  as  a  possible  feature  in 
social  life,  and  both  agreed  that  a  whifF  of 
the  new  herb  might  be  an  interesting  ex- 
periment. 

"  Let  us  go  then  to  the  Bull,"  the  stranger 
suggested,  "where  in  a  small  room  behind 
the  tap  one  may  smoke  a  pipe  for  three- 
pence under  the  tutelage  of  this  very  sea- 
man, who  acquired  the  art  in  our  Virginia 
colonies." 

"Agreed!"  cried  Master  Francis  will- 
ingly ;  though  at  another  time  he  might  have 
rejected  such  an  offer.  "  'Twill  be  an  ex- 
perience to  remember." 

"  Marry,"  replied  the  other,  "  'tis  he  who 
lags  behind  the  cavalcade  who  must  take 
the  dust.  For  my  part  I  like  not  to  be  out- 
faced by  any  idle  boaster  who  may  lisp — 
*Ah,  'tis  an  art  to  keep  the  bowl  aglow! 
Ah,  shouldst  see  me  fill  my  mouth  with 

63 


ON    aCHE    LIGHTSHIP. 

smoke,  and  blow  it  out  in  rings!  Odd's 
bodkin,  the  Duke  himself  said  bravo! '  " 

The  stranger's  mimicry  of  the  mincing 
gallants  of  the  day  was  to  the  life,  and  as 
they  turned  their  steps  toward  the  tavern. 
Master  Francis  laughed  with  satisfaction 
at  finding  himself  in  such  good  company. 
When  presently  his  companion  quoted 
Horace,  he  ventured  to  inquire  at  what 
school  he  had  read  the  classics. 

"  At  none,"  was  the  reply.  "  Let  those 
w^ho  will  perform  the  threshing.  I  am  con- 
tent to  pick  up  kernels  here  and  there  like 
a  sleek  rat  in  a  farmer's  barn.  Your  tip- 
pling scholar  of  the  taproom  will  set  forth 
a  rasher  of  lean  Xenophon  with  every  cup 
of  sack,  and  as  for  churchmen — they  be  all 
unnatural  sons  who  so  bedeck  their  mother 
tongue  in  scraps  and  shreds  of  foreign 
phrase,  the  poor  beldame  walks  abroad  as 
motley  mantled  as  a  fiddler's  wanton." 

"  But  surely — Justitia  eum  cuique  dis- 
tribuit — as  Cicero  hath  it,"  Master  Francis 
cried  in  protest  against  such  heresy.    "  You 

64 


ON    iTjHE    LIGHTSHIP 

will  not  deny  that  an  apt  quotation  lends 
grace  to  our  too  barren  English." 

"  'Tis  a  thin  sauce  to  a  rich  meat,"  replied 
the  other;  adding  modestly,  "  I  am,  an't 
please  you,  sir,  but  one  who,  having  little 
Latin  and  less  Greek,  must  make  a  shift  with 
what  is  left  to  him." 

"  Your  speech  belies  you,  sir,"  retorted 
Master  Francis  courteously,  "  for  it  pro- 
claims a  man  of  nice  discrimination.  I 
could  swear  you  are  a  doctor  of  the  law." 

"  Then  would  you  be  forsworn,"  replied 
the  other,  laughing,  "  for,  by  the  grace  of 
God,  I  am  near  kinsman  to  the  dancing 
poodle  of  a  country  fair.  Come  any  after- 
noon at  three  o'clock  to  the  Curtain  Play- 
house at  Shoreditch,  and  there  for  sixpence 
you  may  see  my  antics." 

"Ah,  then  you  are  a  player!"  Master 
Francis  cried,  well  pleased. 

"  For  the  lack  of  a  more  honest  calling," 
his  companion  answered  with  a  gesture  as 
who  should  say,  "Tell  me  where  can  be 
found  an  honester?" 

65 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"  Then  we  are  in  like  case,"  laughed  Mas- 
ter Francis.  "Fere  totus  mundus  exercet 
histrionem^  says  Phsedrus;  or  as  one 
might  put  it  bluntly,  'AH  the  world's  a 
stage.' " 

"Methinks  our  English  hath  the  better 
jingle,"  commented  the  player.  "  Would 
that  some  wordsmith  might  e'en  recoin  these 
ancient  mintages  to  fill  the  meager  purses 
of  our  mouths !  " 

They  had  come  now  to  the  broad  low  arch- 
way leading  to  the  courtyard  of  the  Bull, 
and  passing  in  beneath  its  shadow.  Master 
Francis  recalled  the  plays  he  had  witnessed 
there  in  boyhood. 

"  Ah,"  said  his  companion,  "  'tis  not  so 
long  since  we  poor  players  hung  our  single 
rag  of  curtain  where  we  might.  Now  we 
have  playhouses  of  our  own,  and  when  the 
servants  of  the  Lord  Chamberlain  shall  oc- 
cupy the  Globe  at  Bankside,  you  shall  see 
how  plays  may  be  presented.  But  Navita 
de  ventis  de  tauris  narrat  orator ,  as  thy  gos- 
sip Propertius  hath  it,  though  I  like  best 

66 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

the  homely  adage,  'A  tinker  will  talk  of 
his  trade.'  " 

They  found  the  seaman  in  the  little  room 
behind  the  tap,  a  veritable  high  priest  of 
some  mystic  cult  in  dignity.  He  bowed  a 
hearty  welcome  to  the  visitors  and  presently 
made  clear  to  them  the  true  relationship  be- 
tween his  pot  of  dried  tobacco  and  the 
earthen  pipe  bowls  at  the  ends  of  hollow 
reeds.  He  cautioned  them  to  have  a  care, 
when  the  coal  of  fire  was  applied,  not  to 
draw  the  smoke  into  their  mouths  too  sud- 
denly and  fall  to  coughing.  He  was  a 
swarthy  man,  with  brass  rings  in  his  ears 
and  long  hair  braided  in  a  queue  behind,  and 
his  account  of  the  savage  king  held  captive 
until  the  inner  secrets  of  the  art  of  smoking 
were  revealed  by  way  of  ransom  was  in  it- 
self a  yarn  well  worth  his  fee. 

"  I  pray  you,  gentlemen,  hold  not  the  pipe 
too  lightly  lest  it  be  overset  and  mar  your 
garments,"  he  instructed  them.  "  And,  by 
your  leave,  it  must  be  grasped  between  the 
thumb  and  second  finger,  nicely  balanced 

67 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

that  the  forearm  grow  not  weary.  Should 
the  brain  become  afflicted  by  the  vapor  it  is 
well  to  pause  and  inhale  some  breaths  of 
common  air.  Extend  the  little  finger  care- 
lessly and  compose  the  face  as  though 
the  flavor  were  agreeable,  for  to  spit  and 
grimace  at  the  pipe  were  most  inele- 
gant." 

"Out  upom  you  for  an  arrant  knave!" 
cried  Master  Francis,  springing  to  his  feet, 
exasperated  by  the  solemn  affectation  of  su- 
perior wisdom.  "  'Tis  but  an  indifferent  en- 
tertainment at  the  best,  and  as  for  the  art, 
I  know  of  none  too  great  a  fool  to  com- 
pass it." 

He  had  grown  a  trifle  pale  about  the  lips 
and  his  nerves  tingled. 

"  Nay,  then,"  protested  his  fellow  inves- 
tigator, "  were  the  taste  less  vile  and  the 
savor  less  like  a  smithy  'twould  make  an  ex- 
cellent good  physic  for  one  afflicted  with 
too  much  health." 

The  sailor  was  a  man  of  evil  disposition, 
who  had  not  only  sailed  with  Raleigh's  god- 
less mariners  but,  had  the  truth  been  known, 


ON  lTjHE  lightship, 

in  other  service  still  less  creditable.  Hearing 
his  enterprise  thus  flouted,  his  anger  rose, 
and  with  a  mighty  oath  he  turned  upon  his 
clients. 

"A  pest  upon  such  horse  boys! "  he  ex- 
claimed. "  Get  back  to  the  stables  whose 
smells  best  suit  you.  Leave  elegant  accom- 
plishments to  your  betters." 

Master  Francis,  grown  fearful  lest  his 
knees  give  way  beneath  him,  and  blinded 
by  a  film  which  swam  before  his  eyes,  moved 
unsteadily  toward  the  door,  half  throwing, 
half  dropping  his  pipe  upon  the  oaken  table, 
where  the  red  clay  bowl  fell  shattered  in  a 
dozen  fragments. 

"Hold! "  cried  the  sailor.  " Not  another 
step,  my  gallant,  till  you  have  paid  me  ten 
shillings  for  my  broken  pipe." 

He  sprang  upon  the  slighter  man  and, 
grasping  him  by  the  shoulders,  would  have 
done  him  violence  had  not  the  other  smoker 
interposed  a  doubled  sinewy  fist  beneath  his 
irate  nose  and  bade  him  let  go  his  hold.  As 
the  command  was  not  instantly  obeyed,  a 
sharp  blow  followed. 

69 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"  Beshrew  my  blood !  "  the  pirate  roared, 
turning  to  strike  at  random. 

"Gadslid!"  returned  the  player,  facing 
him  and  bringing  both  fists  into  action  with 
such  good  effect  that  presently  the  table 
groaned  beneath  the  weight  of  the  strug- 
gling freebooter,  while  pipes,  jug,  and  pre- 
cious weed  went  flying. 

The  uproar  brought  the  company  from 
the  taproom  at  a  run,  customers,  servants, 
the  drawer,  the  pot-boy,  a  brace  of  hostlers, 
until  the  small  room  filled  to  suffocation. 
Swords  were  drawn,  cudgels  brandished, 
above  the  din  the  seaman's  oaths  boomed 
like  the  cannon  of  a  sloop  of  war  in  action. 

"  Good  friends,"  the  player  bawled  out, 
springing  to  a  stool  to  command  attention, 
"  behold  to  what  a  pass  the  smoking  of  this 
weed  will  bring  a  man.  I  pray  you  bind  this 
fellow  fast  and  get  him  safe  to  Bedlam 
before  some  mischief  happens." 

Master  Francis  sank  down  into  the  corner 
of  a  high-backed  seat,  too  ill  for  much  con- 
cern with  what  passed  about  him,  and  it  was 

70 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

not  till  some  moments  later,  in  the  open  air 
and  propped  against  a  wall,  that  conscious- 
ness returned.  His  champion  in  the  late  en- 
counter stood  beside  him. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  student,  "  it  is  to  you  I 
owe  my  preservation,  though,  by  my  honor, 
I  should  have  cut  a  better  figure  in  the  skir- 
mish had  not  the  vapors  of  that  vile  weed 
overpowered  me.  How  made  you  our  es- 
cape?" 

"  Even  as  !^neas  with  Anchises  on  his 
back,"  replied  the  other,  laughing.  "  'Twas 
high  time  to  take  ourselves  away,  being  but 
two  against  so  many,  though,  by  my  faith, 
I've  rarely  seen  a  merrier  opening  for  a 
game  of  skull  cracking." 

The  player,  whether  actuated  by  humor 
or  generosity,  seemed  disposed  to  make  light 
of  the  whole  affair.  Grasping  his  com- 
panion's arm  he  supported  that  gentleman's 
still  uncertain  steps  in  the  direction  of  the 
lodging-house  of  Mistress  Hodges.  He 
spoke  of  broils  and  frays  as  though  such 
pastimes  were  of  every-day  occurrence  with 

71 


ON    tTiHE    LIGHTSHIP 

men  of  spirit,  whether  the  sport  were  put- 
ting a  pinnace  crew  of  drunken  sailors  to 
their  heels,  or  by  some  trickery  outwitting 
the  watch.  At  the  door  Master  Francis 
could  do  no  less  in  hospitality  than  invite 
so  stanch  an  ally  to  enter. 

*'  Come  to  my  chambers  and  rest  awhile," 
he  said,  adding  regretfully,  "  though  they 
be  plain  indeed,  and  offer  no  better  enter- 
tainment than  my  poor  company." 

*'  Good  cheer  enough,"  replied  the  other, 
stepping  back  for  a  better  view  of  the  house. 
"By  my  estates  in  Chancery!"  he  cried, 
"  yon  bristling  roof  that  sets  its  lance 
against  the  very  buckler  of  the  moon  hatK 
met  mine  eyes  before.  'Twas  here,  unless 
my  memory  be  a  lying  kitchen  wench,  our 
noble  Christopher  did  lodge,  the  prince  and 
potentate  of  pewter  pots." 

"And  knew  you  Master  Christopher?" 
asked  Master  Francis  with  increasing  in- 
terest. 

"Marry,  I  knew  him  well,"  replied  the 
player.  "  Marry,  a  poet.  Marry,  a  rimester 
to  couple  you  a  couplet  while  your  Flemish 

.72; 


ON    THE    LIGHT  SHIR 

fighter  quaffs  a  mug  of  sack,  and  pay  tHe 
reckoning  with  a  sonnet  to  his  landlord's 
honesty.  '  The  first  line,'  he  would  say, 
'  shall  tell  the  weight  of  it.*  And  here  he  did 
set  down  a  naught.  '  So  likewise  with  the 
second,  which  doth  sing  its  breadth;  the 
third  proclaims  its  depth  ' — another  naught, 
and  thus  until  the  measure  of  the  verse  was 
writ.  *  Now  add  them  for  thyself,'  he  bids 
the  rum- fed  Malmsey  monger,  '  and  by  the 
thirst  of  Tantalus,  the  sum  shall  blazon  both 
thine  honor  and  my  debt.' " 

"  Methinks  'twas  but  a  scurvy  trick,"  pro- 
tested Master  Francis,  laughing  tolerantly. 
"What  said  the  host  to  it?" 

"  In  faith,"  replied  the  player,  "  he  found 
the  meter  falling  short  and  clamored  for 
money.  *  Money! '  quoth  Kit.  *  Think  well 
on't!  for  if,  as  men  of  reason  all  agree, 
naught  is  better  than  money,  you  are  over- 
paid in  getting  naught ! '  " 

"  His  was  a  pretty  wit  indeed,"  assented 
Master  Francis.  "Enter!"  he  urged  ^\^th 
a  gesture  of  hospitality. 

"Nay!"  cried  the  other.     "As  I  am  a 

73 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

just  man  it  is  perilous  to  enter  into  a  writer's 
castle  where  one  without  offense  is  often 
lashed  with  lyrics  or — what  is  more  fearful 
— pilloried  in  prose.  And  furthermore,  this 
Hebe  of  all  Hodges,  I  have  heard,  this 
Helen  of  Houndsditch,  hath  a  stout  broom- 
stick hid  behind  her  door  for  players,"  he 
added,  making  a  pretense  of  looking  about 
him  warily  as  he  followed  his  host  up  the 
stairs.  Master  Francis  going  first  to  light 
a  candle  with  a  flint  and  steel. 

"  Come  in,"  he  said  as  the  flame  flickered 
up,  "  and  welcome  to  my  chambers,  though 
this  poor  farthing  dip  is  little  better  than 
a  glowworm  that  doth  serve  to  make  the 
darkness  visible." 

"  So  shines  a  good  deed  in  a  naughty 
world,"  returned  the  other,  throwing  him- 
self into  a  seat. 

"You  are  yourself  a  poet!"  Master 
Francis  cried,  "for  you  temper  the  cold 
iron  of  rough  speech  with  oil  of  meta- 
phor." 

"  Nay,"  said  the  player,  "  I  am  no  rime- 

74 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

ster,  but  like  a  scissors-grinder  I  sometimes 
put  a  keener  edge  on  better  men's  inven- 
tions. Faith,"  he  continued,  looking  about 
him  with  approval,  "  I  knew  not  that  our 
Kit  was  housed  so  well.  This  is  a  very- 
bower  in  which  to  woo  the  Muse.  Friend, 
had  I  your  table  and  your  chair,  your  ink- 
well and  your  wit,  it  would  not  take  me 
long  to  be  the  owner  of  one  hundred 
pounds." 

"  One  hundred  pounds?"  gasped  Master 
Francis.  "  Believe  me,  it  is  not  from  ink- 
wells that  such  miraculous  drafts  are  made." 
He  waved  his  hand  toward  the  scattered 
papers  on  the  table.  "  Look,"  he  said,  "  it 
hath  taken  me  a  year  to  make  that  much 
fair  paper  valueless." 

"  You  waste  your  time,"  replied  the 
player  lightly,  "  Instead  of  learned  dis- 
courses, treatises,  and  theses,  in  which  our 
age  will  not  believe  and  the  next  most  cer- 
tainly prove  false,  you  should  devise  a  mask, 
a  mummery,  a  play  to  set  the  groundlings' 

munching  mouths  agape,  and  make  the  gen- 

75 


ON    ffiHE    LIGHTSHIP. 

tie  ladies  of  the  boxes  mince  and  murmur 
to' their  cavaliers,  *  All,  me,  'tis  such  a  sweet 
death!  Oh,  la!  and  'twould  be  pure  to  be 
so  undone!'" 

"A  play!"  exclaimed  the  scholar  in  sur- 
prise, "That's  a  task  for  poets,  not  for 
men  of  learning." 

"  Say  not  so!  "  the  other  interposed. " For 
learning  is  but  poetry  turned  prude.  Coax 
her  with  kisses,  cozen  her  with  a  sigh,  give 
her  a  broidered  girdle  and  a  fan,  and  call 
me  Cerberus  if  thy  staid  Minerva  will 
not  tread  a  merry  measure  to  Orpheus's 
lute." 

"  An'  should  she  play  tHe  wanton  thus  for 
me,  how  should  advantage  follow?  "  Master 
Francis  asked  'wdth  growing  interest,  as  he 
leaned  forward  in  the  candle-light  to  catch 
the  answer. 

"  'Tis  simplicity  itself,"  replied  the 
player.  "  Look  you,  this  new-built  play- 
house of  the  Globe  is  shortly  to  be  opened, 
and  the  town  is  at  the  very  finger  pricks  of 
curiosity  to  behold  its  marvels.    The  players 

76 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

stand  like  greyhounds  in  their  gyves,  the 
counters  wait  the  welcome  buifets  of  the 
coin,  and  Burbage,  madder  than  a  hare  in 
March,  ibounds  doubling  on  his  track  hither 
and  thither  to  find  a  play." 

"  Sure  London  hath  as  many  playwrights 
as  a  cheese  hath  mites,"  commented  Master 
Francis. 

"  True,"  the  other  answered,  "  but  look 
you,  here's  a  case  when  mite  and  wright 
agree  not.  For  one  is  mad,  and  one  hath 
lost  his  cunning,  and  one  will  spend  in 
drink  the  money  given  him  for  ink,  and 
Kit,  the  master  of  them  all,  is  writing  come- 
dies for  shades  in  Pluto's  courtyard.  In 
troth,  there  seems  no  better  market  for  a 
hundred  pounds  than  'twere  a  huckster's 
hat  of  rotten  cherries." 

"An  hundred  pounds!"  gasped  Master 
Francis.  "  The  sum  doth  spell  for  me  am- 
bition gratified." 

"Ah,  ha,  my  lean  sciholar!"  cried  the 
player.  "  Is  not  the  matter  worth  consider- 
ing? " 

.77 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP, 


Marry,  it  is,"  admitted  Master  Francis, 

if  one  had  but  the  fancy." 

Oh,  as  to  that,"  returned  the  other,  "  I'll 
warrant  when  your  blood  ran  hot  from  the 
full  caldron  of  lip-scalding  youth,  thy  fancy 
played  you  many  a  pretty  mask,  for  young 
imagination  dreams  more  dreams  than  wak- 
ing age  doth  have  the  wit  to  write.  These 
conjure  up  again,  unbar  your  closet,  unlock 
your  treasure  chest — "  Here  Master  Fran- 
cis gave  a  start,  but  the  player  went  on 
heedlessly:  "  By  my  faith,  yon  rascal  cof- 
fer well  might  be  the  grave  wherein  the 
best  of  thee  lies  buried." 

He  made  a  motion  of  the  hand  toward 
the  box  of  the  departed  Christopher,  and 
Master  Francis's  visage  in  the  candle-light 
turned  pale. 

"What  ails  you,  man?"  the  other  in- 
quired. "  Have  you  a  memory  of  that  last 
tobacco  pipe?" 

"  Sir,"  cried  Master  Francis,  rising 
slowly  to  his  feet,  "is  it  the  truth  that  a 
play  can  be  sold  for  so  much  money?" 

7« 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"In  the  Queen's  coin,"  the  other  an- 
swered. "So  that  it  be  worth  the  playing, 
so  it  be  such  a  play  as  Kit  could  have  writ- 
ten." 

Master  Francis,  taking  up  the  candle, 
moved  toward  the  chest. 

"I'll  take  you  at  your  word,"  he  said. 
"Like  one  who  creeps  with  shrouded  Ian- 
thorn  and  with  muffled  spade  to  force  the 
moldering  hinges  of  the  gate  of  Death,  I'll 
bring  you  back  a  play." 

He  stooped,  and  lifting  the  lid  seized 
the  first  manuscript  that  met  his  hand  and 
waved  it  triumphantly  at  his  companion  sit- 
ting on  the  table. 

"A  play!"  cried  the  other,  catching  at 
the  roll.  "  Ah,  then  I  guessed  aright.  'Tis 
a  dull  writer,  fitted  best  for  slumber- wooing 
churchmen's  homilies,  who  has  not  in  his 
time  chucked  blushing  Thalia  under  her  fair 
chin.  .  .  .  What  have  we  here? "  he  de- 
manded, spreading  the  pages  open  before 
him.  "  A  play,  indeed!  A  comedy,  i'  faith! 
Gadslid,  a  tragedy!    A  miracle  of  master- 

79 


ON,    EGHE    LIGHTSHIE 

pieces,  a  masterpiece  of  miracles!  'Twill  be 
the  talk  of  London  town  and  in  the  ages 
yet  to  come,  when  stately  playhouses  shall 
stand  where  now  the  painted  savage  cleaves 
his  enemy,  your  play  shall  win  the  coy  and 
cautious  coin  of  nations  yet  unborn,  your 
fame " 

"  Peace,  peace  I "  protested  Master  Fran- 
cis, with  a  smile  that  would  have  done  credit 
to  his  uncle,  the  Lord  Treasurer,  "  you  are 
like  a  paid  praisemonger  who  bawls  loudest 
to  extol  the  book  he  has  not  read." 

"  'Tis  my  prophetic  soul,"  returned  the 
player  merrily,  and  waving  the  scroll  above 
his  head  he  went  on:  "  Hear  ye,  hear  ye, 
good  servants  of  the  Queen,  here's  meat  for 
your  digestions,  matter  for  your  minds; 
here's  wit  and  wisdom,  prose  and  poetry,  to 
make  ye  swear  that  brave  Kit  Marlowe 
walks  the  earth  again,  .  .  .  Come,  gos- 
sip, write  your  name  upon  the  title  sheet. 
You  are  too  modest." 

"  My  name  I  may  not  sell,"  said  Master 
Francis,  holding  back. 

80 


ON    T.HE    LIGHTSHIP. 

"Unnatural  parent !"  roared  the  other. 
"  Would  you  thus  turn  your  offspring  loose 
upon  the  world  without  parentage?" 

"  I'll  not  be  father  to  a  brat  so  ill-begot- 
ten," replied  Master  Francis. 

"How  shall  I  answer  then  to  Burbage 
should  he  ask  the  writer?"  demanded  the 
player. 

"  As  you  may,"  returned  Master  Francis 
with  a  shrug.  "  An't  please  you,  say  it  was 
yourself.  I  care  not,  so  my  name  be  not 
revealed." 

"  'Twill  be  a  jest,"  the  player  cried,  laugh- 
ing, "a  jest  which,  should  the  play  find 
favor,  may  be  at  any  time  corrected." 

And  taking  up  a  pen  he  dipped  it  in  the 
ink-horn  to  write  across  the  page: 

The  Tragedy  of  Romeo  and  Juliet 
BY  William  Shakespeare 

"  A  proper  title,  surely! "  commented  the 
scholar,  looking  across  his  shoulder.  "  Your 
name,  friend  Will,  should  lure  the  public 
eye  more  cunningly  than  that  of  Francis 
Bacon." 

81 


THE    CARHART   MYSTERY 


THE    CARHART    MYSTERY 

THE  conversation  had  grown  rem- 
iniscent, as  conversations  will 
when  old  acquaintance  stirs  its 
coffee  after  dinner  and  the  blue 
wreaths  of  good  tobacco-smoke  float  ceil- 
ingward,  like  pleasant  specters,  in  the  sub- 
dued light  of  the  shaded  lamps. 

Barton  and  I,  in  following  back  some 
winding  paths  of  memory  now  well-nigh 
overgrown,  were  in  danger  of  forgetting 
our  good  manners  till  Willoughby  reminded 
us  of  his  presence. 

"  I  might  as  well  embrace  this  oppor- 
tunity for  a  nap,"  he  said,  stretching  his 
long  legs  to  the  fire,  and  sinking  back  into 
one  of  Barton's  most  engaging  armchairs. 
"  Just  wake  me  up  when  you  fellows  hit 
upon  a  subject  I  know  something  of.  I 
happen  to  have  been  living  in  India  during 

85 


ON    lTHE    lightship 

the  time  the  thrilling  tea-and-tennis  episodes 
you  recall  so  fondly  were  taking  place,  and, 
to  tell  the  truth,  they  bore  me." 

Barton  laughed. 

"  Oh,  we  have  done  with  recollections,  and 
now  you  shall  have  a  chance  to  bore  us  with 
an  Indian  tale  or  so  by  way  of  recompense," 
he  said,  with  the  candor  permissible  only 
between  men  who  know  each  other  well. 
"  Make  clear  to  us  the  difference  between  a 
maharajah  and  a  pongee  pa  jama,  and  go 
ahead." 

"At  least,  my  stories  do  not  deal  with 
duels  that  ended  in  Delmonico's,  and  flirta- 
tions which  fell  flat,"  asserted  Willoughby, 
blowing, a  cloud  of  fragrant  incense  into 
space.  "I've  no  idea  of  wasting  occult  ma- 
terial on  a  brace  of  rank  Philistines,  but  if 
I  were  so  disposed " 

"  Dear  boy!  "  I  put  in,  rather  testily;  for 
I  dislike  fatuous  patronage  even  in  fun. 
"  Either  Barton  or  I  could  relate  to  you  an 
incident  which  occurred  in  this  very  room, 
within  a  yard  of  where  you  sit,  remarkable 

86 


ON  lThe  lightship 

enough  to  make  your  Kiplingest  jungle- tale 
seem  as  tame  as  '  Mother  Hubbard's 
Dog!'" 

"Indeed!"  he  said,  sinking  still  farther 
into  his  chair,  with  something  very  like  a 
yawn;  and  Barton,  as  he  arose  and  moved 
to  the  mantelpiece,  cast  a  look  of  remon- 
strance toward  me  which  I  was  careful  not 
to  recognize. 

"  Ah,  here  comes  Nathan  with  fresh  cof- 
fee," our  host  announced,  clearly  to  change 
the  subject,  as  the  round-shouldered  figure 
of  his  worthy  valet  appeared  in  the  lamp- 
light. "  Pray  let  him  fill  your  cups,  and,  if 
it  is  not  strong  enough,  don't  hesitate  to 
tell  him." 

"  It'th  not  the  coffee  gentlemen  dethired 
when  I  wath  young,"  commented  Nathan, 
a  trifle  sadly,  and  with  the  amusing  lisp 
which  made  him  something  of  a  character, 
albeit  he  was  rather  a  dull  man  even  for  a 
valet. 

"  I  never  take  a  second  cup,"  Willoughby 

declared,  adding:    "  But.  if  it's  all  the  same, 

87 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

I  might  be  tempted  by  a  sip  of  soda  later, 
say  in  half  an  hour  or  so." 

This  struck  me  as  an  excellent  sugges- 
tion, and  Barton  evidently  thought  the 
same. 

"  Bring  soda  in  half  an  hour,"  he  in- 
structed the  servant,  "  and  mind  you  have  it 
cold." 

"It'th  never  any  other  way  you've  had 
your  thoda  a  thingle  night  for  fifteen 
yearth,  thir,"  retorted  Nathan,  with  quite 
sufficient  truth,  no  doubt,  to  justify  the  pro- 
test; and  as  he  shuffled  from  the  room, 
"  Jim  "  Barton's  guests  chuckled. 

"I  move  we  give  the  half-hour  to  your 
yarn,"  said  Willoughby,  crossing  his  legs. 
"That  is,  if  it  can  be  told  in  thirty  min- 
utes." 

"  It's  not  worth  half  that  time  if  it  were 
told  at  all,"  replied  our  host.  "  The  story  is 
not  worth  much  at  best,  but  to  give  old  Joe 
here  the  chance  to  intimate  a  too-elaborate 
dinner." 

My  name  is  Joseph,  by  the  way. 

88 


66 
66 


ON    iTHE     LIGHTSHIP 

"  Oh,  if  you  will  admit  that  explana- 
tion  "  I  began,  to  draw  him  on,  for  I 

was  anxious  Willoughby  should  understand 
that  interesting  things  could  happen  else- 
where than  in  India. 

"  I  don't  admit  it  in  the  least ! "  cried 
Barton,  interrupting.  "  I  assure  you,  Wil- 
loughby, upon  my  word,  as  sure  as  I  stand 
here,  I  had  tasted  nothing  more  potent  than 
a  glass  or  two  of  Burgundy  that  night." 
What  night?"  inquired  Willoughby. 
The  night  young  Carhart  disappeared," 
I  interposed  impressively.  "  The  night  a 
fellow  six  feet  high  and  heavier  than  any 
one  of  us  vanished  as  completely  from  this 
room  as  a  puff  of  smoke  dissolves  in  air." 

"  I  have  seen  a  puff  of  smoke  go  flying 
through  a  window,"  Willoughby  suggested, 
laughing,  though  his  interest  had  evidently 
been  aroused,  for  he  glanced  toward  the 
bay  of  leaded  glass  which  made  one  of  the 
pleasantest  features  of  Barton's  cozy  smok- 
ing-room. 

"  But  no  man  ever  went  through  this  par- 

89 


ON  lThe  lightship 

ticular  window,"  I  replied,  taking  the  bur- 
den of  enlightenment  upon  myself,  in  spite 
of  my  host's  very  apparent  disapproval. 
"  This  window  looks  out  upon  a  neighbor's 
yard,  and  ever  since  the  house  was  built  it 
has  been  barred  as  heavily  as  you  see  it 
now." 

I  sprang  up,  and,  when  I  had  pressed  a 
button  which  set  a  dozen  electric  bulbs  aglow 
in  the  four  corners  of  the  room,  drew  the 
light  curtains  to  one  side. 

"Examine  for  yourself!"  I  cried,  much 
in  the  manner  of  a  showman. 

"I'll  take  your  word  for  it  the  iron  in 
that  grille  is  genuine,"  said  Willoughby, 
without  rising.  "  And  I  will  admit  that  no 
fasting  Yogi  could  worm  himself  through 
interstices  so  small.  But  how  about  the 
door?" 

"  The  door,"  I  hastened  to  assure  him, 
"  was  then  just  as  you  see  it  now,  an  open- 
ing three  feet  wide,  and  Barton  himself 
stood  before  it  in  the  hall,  a  single  step  be- 
yond the  threshold." 

90 


a 


i( 


ON    /THE    LIGHTSHIE 

I  should  have  gone  on  in  my  eagerness  to 
call  attention  to  the  walls  and  ceiling  and 
floor,  all  obviously  free  from  secret  open- 
ings, had  not  Barton  interrupted. 

Shifting  uneasily  on  his  feet  before  the 
mantelpiece,  he  said :  "  Our  friend  Joe  has 
not  explained  that  he  knows  nothing  of  the 
circumstances  beyond  what  I  have  told  him." 

But  not  in  confidence,"  I  protested. 

No,"  admitted  Barton,  "  not  in  confi- 
dence." And  to  his  other  guest  he  said: 
"  I  have  made  no  secret  of  this  strange  oc- 
currence, Willoughby,  and  my  reluctance 
to  discuss  it  arises  from  a  doubt  that  long 
familiarity  with  the  circumstances  has  not 
made  it  impossible  for  me  to  give  to  each 
its  proper  weight.  I  am  in  constant  fear 
of  coming  upon  a  weakness  which  I  have 
overlooked  in  the  chain,  and  yet  it  would 
be  a  relief  to  discover  such  a  flaw.  I  should 
have  called  in  an  expert  at  once.  I  should 
have  sought  the  counsel  of  detectives;  and 
such  would  unquestionably  have  been  my 

course  had  not  those  most  interested  dis- 

91 


ON    iTHE    LIGHTSHIP 

suaded  me.  Young  Carhart's  father  tele- 
graphed me:  '  Say  nothing  to  authorities. 
Disappearance  satisfactorily  explained.' 
And,  at  the  time,  that  was  enough.  It  was 
not  till  some  months  later  that  I  learned  the 
family  were  theosophists,  a  sect  to  which 
nothing  is  so  satisfactory  as  the  inexplicable. 
I  have,  myself,  no  theory  to  advance.  The 
man,  my  guest,  was  here  one  moment,  and 
the  next  he  had  gone  from  a  room  where 
the  only  openings  were  a  grilled  window 
and  a  guarded  door.  His  overcoat  and  hat 
are  still  in  my  possession;  and,  from  all  I 
have  been  able  to  learn,  he  has  not  been 
heard  of  since." 

"  I  beg  that  you  will  not  think  it  neces- 
sary to  tell  me  more  of  the  story  if  it  dis- 
tresses you,"  protested  Willoughby,  courte- 
ously; for  Barton's  face  had  grown  grave, 
and  I  had  begun  to  feel  my  introduction 
of  the  subject  ill-timed.  But  our  host  was 
quick  to  reassure  him  with  a  gesture. 

"  On  the  contrary,"  he  said,  "  you  have 
but  just  returned  from  India,  where,  as  I 

92 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

have  heard,  mysterious  disappearances  are 
not  uncommon,  and  occult  matters  are  bet- 
ter understood.  Your  opinion  will  be  of 
the  greatest  service.'* 

*'  In  that  case,"  Willoughby  replied,  be- 
coming instantly,  judicially  alert,  "  let  us 
begin  at  the  beginning.  Who  was  Carhart? 
How  came  he  here?  What  was  the  manner 
of  his  going?  " 

That's  just  the  mystery,"  I  interposed. 
Joe,  please  don't  interrupt,"  said  Bar- 
ton, making  an  effort  to  collect  his  thoughts. 

"  Sit  down,  old  man,"  Willoughby  sug- 
gested. "  We'll  choke  Joe  if  he  speaks 
again.  Now  let  us  have  the  facts — I'm 
deeply  interested.     Do  sit  down." 

Barton  complied  in  so  far  as  to  perch  him- 
self upon  the  broad  arm  of  a  leather  chair. 

"I  shan't  be  tragic,"  he  began;  *' for, 
as  I  said,  there  may  be — in  fact,  there  must 
be — some  purely  natural  explanation.  Of 
course,  you  never  met  young  Carhart;  for 
he  came  here  while  you  were  away.  He  had 
but  few  acquaintances  in  New  York;  for, 

93 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

although  he  brought  good  letters  from  Bos- 
ton, where  his  people  lived,  he  had  not 
chosen  to  present  them.  He  was  a  most  at- 
tractive sort — half-back  at  Harvard,  stroke- 
oar  and  all  the  rest.  Great  fellow  in  the 
Hasty  Pudding  Club,  and  poet  of  his  class, 
but  just  a  trifle — shall  I  say — susceptible 

and " 

Soft,"  I  suggested. 

No,"  contradicted  Barton ;  "  though,  to 
tell  the  truth,  he  never  could  resist  a  pretty 
face.     That  was  his  failing." 

"Remarkable  man!"  Willoughby  com- 
mented, with  fervor. 

"  He  was,"  assented  Barton.  "  In  that 
respect,  at  least.  He  carried  it  too  far.  He 
wanted  to  marry  every  good-looking  girl 
he  met.  He  M^ould  have  been  married  a 
dozen  times  before  he  graduated,  had  not 
his  friends  interfered." 

"Thank  heaven  for  friends!"  com- 
mented Willoughby,  with  still  more  fervor. 

"  Till  at  last,"  continued  Barton,  now 
sufficiently  himself  to  punctuate  his  narra- 

94. 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

tive  with  occasional  whifFs  of  his  cigar,  "  at 
last  Carhart  fell  under  the  influence  of  a 
widow." 

"  A  designing  widow,"  I  put  in,  to  make 
the  situation  clearer. 

"Attractive?  "  Willoughby  inquired. 

"  Oh,  decidedly." 

"  Encumbrances? " 

"  No,"  answered  Barton.  "  Not  exactly. 
There  were  rumors  of  a  husband  in  the  back- 
ground somewhere,  but  he  was  not  pro- 
duced." 

"  A  pretty  widow  is  beyond  the  habeas 
corpus  act,"  mused  Willoughby. 

"  Quite  so,"  Barton  admitted.  "  But,  at 
all  events,  there  was  nothing  really  known 
against  the  lady  except  a  maiden  aunt,  and 
this  objectionable  relative  was,  by  the  way, 
quite  as  much  opposed  to  the  match  as  were 
Carhart's  own  people." 

And  why  were  they  opposed  to  it? " 
Oh,  you  see,  with  his  proclivities  for 
poetry  and  acting,  they  were  afraid  an  un- 
happy marriage  would  drive  him  to  the 

9.5 


6i 


(( 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

stage,  and,  naturally,  they  took  every  meas- 
ure to  prevent  it." 

Here  Barton  paused  to  light  a  fresh  cigar, 
while  we  others  sipped  our  coffee  thought- 
fully. 

"  And  what  were  these  preventive  meas- 
ures? "  Willoughby  inquired. 

"  Oh,  the  usual  thing,"  said  Barton. 
"  Threats,  badgering,  advice  and  promises. 
All  these  failed  to  move  him;  he  was  de- 
termined to  make  her  his  wife,  and,  as  a 
last  resource,  his  father  wrote  to  me,  put- 
ting the  matter  in  my  hands  without  re- 
serve. Our  ancestors  came  over  on  the  same 
boat,  so  it  appeared." 

"  The  Mayflower;'  I  breathed,  but  that 
was  scarcely  necessary. 

"Quite  so,"  he  admitted;  "and  that,  of 
course,  entailed  a  certain  obligation." 

"  Of  course,"  we  both  assented,  and  the 
narrative  continued. 

"  An  elopement  had  been  planned,  as  we 
had  every  reason  to  believe,  for  a  certain 
evening;  and  the  elder  Carhart  kept  the 

96 


ON     THE     LIGHTSHIP 

Boston  wires  hot  all  day  with  appeals  to  me 
to  save  his  son.'* 

"And  did  you?"  Willoughby  inquired. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Barton,  cautiously,  "  in 
a  way." 

"How?" 

"  I  began  by  inviting  him  to  dinner." 

"  And,  of  course,  he  did  not  accept?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  did.  He  both  accepted  and 
arrived  on  time,  and  I  must  say  I  never 
saw  a  man  confront  a  filet  mignon  borde- 
laise  with  more  outward  satisfaction;  and, 
though  we  spoke  upon  indifferent  topics, 
his  spirits  seemed  exuberant  beyond  all 
bounds.  But  you  may  be  sure  I  kept  an 
eye  upon  his  every  movement.  I  was  deter- 
mined he  should  not  escape.  In  an  extrem- 
ity, I  was  prepared  to  administer  a  harmless 
sleeping-potion  in  his  coffee." 

"Indeed!"  said  Willoughby,  as  he  set 
down  his  cup,  and  ran  an  investigating  and 
suspicious  tongue  along  the  edges  of  his 
lips. 

"A    drastic    measure,    I    admit,"    con- 

97 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

tinued  Barton,  "but  one  which  I  should 
have  considered  justifiable,  could  I  have 
foreseen  the  miscarriage  of  my  other  plan. 
You  know  my  eldest  sister,  Emily? " 

We  bowed,  for  it  was  a  duty  to  know 
Emily. 

"And  you  know  her  eldest  daughter, 
Emeline?" 

We  bowed  again;  it  was  a  pleasure  to 
know  Emeline. 

"  Well,"  went  on  Barton,  "  it  so  happened 
that  they  were  to  dine  that  evening  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  I  arranged  with  them  to 
drop  in  upon  me  in  an  offhand  way  soon 
after  their  dinner,  which  was  a  small,  in- 
formal one.  I  was  convinced,  you  see,  that 
Carhart  could  not  fail  to  fall  desperately  in 
love  with  Emeline,  which  would  have  sim- 
plified affairs  at  once." 

Of  course,  we  both  assented — I  through 
civility,  but  Willoughby,  as  I  fancied,  with 
a  somewhat  heightened  color. 

"  I  presume  you  did  not  take  Miss  Eme- 
line into  your  confidence,"  he  said,  a  trifle 
stiffly. 

98 


ON     THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"  No,"  answered  Barton,  "  but  I  have 
often  wished  since  that  I  had  been  more 
frank.  It's  just  the  sort  of  thing  she's  good 
at." 

Willoughby  tossed  his  excellent  cigar, 
half  smoked,  into  the  grate,  with  what  ap- 
peared unnecessary  violence. 

"You  were  saying  that  your  plan  fell 
through,"  he  prompted, 

"It  did,"  rejoined  the  host.  "It  fell 
through  completely,  as  you  shall  see.  I 
kept  my  young  friend  at  the  table  as  long 
as  possible,  and  Nathan — to  his  credit  I  will 
say  it — was  never  more  deliberate ;  but  when 
Carhart  had  declined  almonds  and  raisins 
rather  pointedly  for  the  third  time,  we  rose 
from  the  table,  as  the  clock  struck  ten,  and 
came  in  here  to  smoke.  The  lights  were 
low,  as  they  were  before  our  friend  Joe 
tried  to  blind  us." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon!"  I  exclaimed,  and, 
hastening  to  the  button,  I  reduced  the  room 
again  to  semi-darkness. 

Ah,  that's  more  like  it,"  said  Barton. 

I  much  prefer  the  light  subdued.    Well, 


(C 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

here  we  were — Carhart  before  the  mantel- 
piece, where  I  stood  just  now,  smoking 
composedly  enough,  and  I  between  him  and 
the  door,  listening  for  the  sound  of  the  bell 
which  might  at  any  moment  announce  the 
arrival  of  the  ladies.  I  remember  perfectly 
that  we  were  discussing  setter-dogs ;  and,  as 
you  may  well  believe,  I  was  never  so  put  to 
it  for  anecdotes  in  my  life,  when  at  last  the 
welcome  summons  came." 

"  I  thought  you  said  your  plan  fell 
through,"  Willoughby  interposed. 

"It  did,"  retorted  Barton.  "The  bell, 
which  echoed  through  the  house,  was  not 
rung  by  Emily  at  all,  but  by  a  servant  with 
a  note  from  her  to  say  that,  being  indis- 
posed, my  sister  had  decided  to  drive  di- 
rectly home.  Emeline,  she  added,  was  go- 
ing on  to  some  infernal  dance.  I  had  given 
Carhart  no  intimation  of  my  sister's  com- 
ing, and,  naturally,  I  did  not  reveal  the  con- 
tents of  her  note.  In  fact,  I  made  the  dim 
light  an  excuse  for  stepping  into  the 
brighter  hall,  and  this  enabled  me  to  con- 

100 


■>     t         5  3 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

ceal  from  him  my  first  chagrin.  As  I  stood 
not  two  feet  from  the  threshold,  debating 
what  my  course  should  be,  I  observed  that 
Nathan  closed  the  front  door  upon  the 
messenger;  and  presently  he  passed  me,  go- 
ing to  his  pantry,  as  I  thought.  I  must 
have  remained  standing  there  before  the 
door  nearly  a  minute,  though  it  seemed 
much  less,  for,  when  I  turned,  Nathan  was 
at  my  elbow  again,  holding  in  his  hand  a 
tray  of  cups. 

" '  You  served  the  coffee  not  a  minute 
ago,  you  idiot ! '  I  said,  betraying  the  irri- 
tation which  I  felt ;  and,  furthermore,  I  will 
confess,  the  smell  of  coffee  brought  back  to 
me  most  painfully  the  only  plan  which  then 
remained. 

" '  I  thought  you  might  be  ready  for 
thum  more,'  persisted  Nathan,  with  his  most 
aggravating  lisp.  '  I  did  not  know  the  gen- 
tleman had  gone.' 

"  '  Gone ! '  I  exclaimed.  *  You  must  be 
blind.  The  gentleman,  Mr.  Carhart,  is  in 
the  smoking-room.' 

101 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 


(C  < 


I  beg  your  pardon,  thir ;  but  he'th  not/ 
retorted  Nathan,  moving  from  me  as 
though  to  avoid  a  blow.  *  The  gentleman 
ain't  in  the  thmoking-room.' 

" '  Fool! '  I  cried,  and  darted  from  him, 
but  the  next  moment  I  had  found  his  vrords 
too  true,  Carhart  had  vanished,  disap- 
peared, melted,  as  one  might  say,  into  the 
element  of  air." 

"Strange!"  I  reflected,  lowering  my 
voice  as  an  aid  to  Barton's  climax. 

"Strange  enough!"  cried  Willoughby, 
less  impressed  than  I  had  hoped.  "  And  so 
yom'  servant  was  the  first  to  make  the  dis- 
covery?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Barton;  "although  I 
have  never  allowed  him  to  know  of  my  as- 
tonishment. I  did  my  best  to  pass  it  off 
as  a  joke.  I  allowed  him  to  believe  that 
Carhart  had  taken  leave  of  me  before  the 
stupid  blunder  of  the  second  coffee." 

"  Athking  your  pardon,  thir,"  came  in 
injured,  lisping  accents  from  the  gloom. 
"I  never  brought  no  thecond  coffee  that 

102 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

night,  becauth  the  cat  upthet  the  coffee-pot, 
nor  did  I  thay,  thir,  that  the  gentleman  had 
gone." 

Barton,  conceahng  his  annoyance,  sat  re- 
garding his  domestic  for  a  moment  with  as- 
sumed indifference. 

"  And  pray,  what  did  you  say,  then,  when 
you  stood  there  beside  me  at  the  door? "  he 
demanded. 

"  Nothing  at  all,  thir,"  answered  Nathan. 
"  I  wathn't  there.  I  went  back  to  my  pan- 
try when  I  had  let  out  the  methenger,  and 
there  I  thtayed  until  I  heard  you  hammer- 
ing on  the  wallth  and  floor  with  the  fire- 
shovel." 

"  That  will  do,  Nathan,"  returned  Bar- 
ton stiffly;  and  I  perceived  an  odd  expres- 
sion on  the  face  of  Willoughby. 

"  Thoda,  thir?"  inquired  Nathan  of  the 
other  guest. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  answer.  "  And  please 
fill  it  up." 

We  settled  down  into  an  awkward  si- 
lence, while  Nathan  fidgetted  with  soda- 

103 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

water  bottles.  Barton  fingering  his  cigar,  I 
toying  with  a  paper-weight,  and  Wil- 
loughby  intent  upon  the  fire. 

"  Carhart,"  he  kept  repeating,  almost  to 
himself.  "  Where  have  I  heard  that  name 
before?     Carhart!" 

"Carhart?"  said  Barton  inquiringly. 

"Carhart!"  repeated  Willoughby,  with 
still  more  abstraction.     "  Carhart!  " 

"Yes,  Carhart!"  I  put  in,  by  way  of 
keeping  up  the  train  of  thought. 

"Carhart!"  roared  Barton,  springing  to 
his  feet.  "  Can't  anybody  say  anything  but 
Carhart?" 

"  And  what  became  of  the  widow?  "  Wil- 
loughby demanded  meditatively. 

"  I  never  knew  nor  cared  to  know,"  re- 
plied our  host. 

"  Pretty,  I  think  you  said,"  continued 
Willoughby.     "And  auburn-haired?" 

"Yes,  deuced  pretty,  deuced  auburn- 
haired.    What  are  you  driving  at?" 

Willoughby  held  up  a  soothing  hand. 

"  Just  let  me  think,"  he  said.    "  I  used  to 

104 


ox     THE     LIGHTSHIP 

know  a  man  once  in  Calcutta.  An  Amer- 
ican from  Boston;  sold  canned  goods,  cal- 
ico and  caramels  at  wholesale;  had  a  pretty 
wife.  Clever  fellow,  too;  and  great  at  giv- 
ing imitations — could  mimic  anything. 
Used  to  do  an  old  domestic  with  a  lisp  in 
a  way  that  would  make  your  sides  ache.  I 
wish  I  could  recall  that  fellow's  name.  By 
Jove,  it  was — ^it  was! — it  was! " 

"Was  what?"  I  asked. 

"Why, 'Carhart'!" 

Barton,  before  the  fire,  swayed  on  his 
feet  unsteadily,  and  clutched  the  mantel- 
piece for  support.  Old  Nathan  shuffled  to 
his  side. 

Thoda,  thir? "  the  servant  asked. 
Yes,"  said  the  master  absently.     "If 
57'ou  please,  one  lump  of  sugar  and  a  httle 


cream." 


105 


THE   MONSTROSITY 


THE   MONSTROSITY 

FIFTEEN  minutes  after  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Lemuel  Livermore,  accom- 
panied by  their  daughter  Selma, 
had  driven  away  from  their  com- 
fortable West  Side  residence,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  attending  an  annual  family  gath- 
ering at  the  house  of  Mrs.  Livermore's  wid- 
owed mother,  Mrs.  Pease,  on  the  opposite 
side  of  Central  Park,  the  Livermore  do- 
mestics were  stirred  by  a  more  than  usually 
imperative  ring  at  the  front  door-bell.  It 
was  Christmas  Eve,  a  season  when  mercan- 
tile delivery  wagons  may  appear  at  any 
hour.  Presents  had  been  arriving  all  the 
afternoon,  and  the  sight  of  a  large  van 
backed  up  against  the  curbstone  occasioned 
no  surprise. 

"  What  are  they  bringing  us  now?  "  in- 
quired Bates,  the  butler,  who  rarely  conde- 

109 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

scended  to  open  the  door  in  the  absence  of 
the  family,  from  his  pantry. 

"  It  looks  to  me  something  like  a  sofa," 
replied  the  smiling  housemaid,  who  gener- 
ally knew  by  instinct  when  the  ringer  was 
to  be  young  and  good-looking,  "  and  the 
delivery  gentlemen  want  to  know  where  to 
put  it." 

"A  sofa,  is  it?"  exclamed  the  butler, 
coming  forward.  "I'd  like  to  know  who 
has  been  silly  enough  to  make  a  present  of 
a  sofa  to  a  family  who  have  already  more 
household  goods  than  they  know  what  to  do 
with.  They'll  be  sending  in  a  porcelain 
bath-tub  next,"  he  added  with  a  grunt,  as 
he  unbolted  the  second  half  of  the  front 
door  to  make  room  for  a  cumbrous  piece 
of  furniture,  just  then  ascending  the  steps 
apparently  upon  four  lusty  legs.  "  Here, 
you  fellows,  wipe  your  feet  and  put  it  in 
the  parlor,  and  when  the  family  comes 
home  I  bet  somebody'll  get  a  blessing." 

The  sofa  was,  in  point  of  fact,  a  well- 
fed  lounge,  corpulent  and  plushy  and  be- 

110 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

flowered,  and  when,  its  wrappings  removed, 
it  occupied  the  center  of  the  Livermore 
pink  and  white  drawing-room,  the  Liver- 
more  bric-a-brac  and  bibelots  and  bijouterie 
appeared  to  turn  a  trifle  pale  and  to  shrink 
within  themselves,  as  though  a  note  of  dis- 
cord had  distressed  them. 

"  Lord! "  said  the  housemaid  frankly,  as 
she  regarded  the  latest  unwelcome  acquisi- 
tion, "  but  it  is  a  beast! " 

"  Sets  the  room  ofl",  don't  it? "  remarked 
the  fattest  and  most  optimistic  of  the  fur- 
niture men,  as  he  consulted  a  memorandum 
in  his  hat.  "  Come  in  handy,  won't  it,  when 
the  missus  wants  to  snatch  a  nap  in  the 
afternoon?" 

The  butler  and  the  housemaid  exchanged 
a  glance  of  tolerant  pity,  but  such  be- 
nighted ignorance  of  social  use  was  beyond 
enlightenment. 

"  Best  give  it  a  good  brush-up  to  bring 

out  the  colors,"  the  optimist  admonished, 

surveying  his  late  burden  admiringly. 

"  I  wouldn't  touch  it  with  the  tongs,"  de- 

111 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

clared  the  housemaid,  and  the  butler  proph- 
esied, *'  It  won't  stop  long  to  gather  dust 
where  it  is  when  the  missus  sets  eyes  on  it 
once." 

"  Well,"  moralized  the  other,  with  a  com- 
prehensive glance  about  the  room,  "  it's  cer- 
tainly a  fact  that  rich  folks  does  come  in 
for  all  the  luck." 

And  so  saying  he  withdrew,  accompanied 
by  his  mate,  and  the  bolts  were  shot  behind 
them. 

"  Our  dinner  will  be  getting  cold,"  ob- 
served the  butler.  "  Go  down,  Mary  Anne, 
and  tell  the  cook  I'm  coming,  and  I'll  bring 
down  the  decanters.  That  sherry's  hardly 
fit  to  serve  upstairs  again." 

The  housemaid  sniffed. 

"Be  careful,  Mr.  Bates,"  she  cautioned 
him.  "  The  old  butler,  Auguste,  was  dis- 
charged because  he  found  so  many  bottles 
of  champagne  that  were  unfit  to  serve  up- 
stairs." 

"Auguste,"  rejoined  the  butler,  "was  a 
French  duffer.    He  ought  to  have  known 

112 


ON     THE     LIGHTSHIP 

that  even  broad-minded  gentlemen  alwaj^s 
count  champagne." 

"  Shall  we  leave  the  lights  all  burning  in 
the  parlor?  "  asked  the  housemaid. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Bates;  "  it  wouldn't 
do  for  the  missus  to  stumble  over  that  thing 
in  the  dark.*' 

"Lord!"  said  the  housemaid,  with  a 
parting  glance  across  her  shoulder.  "  Lord ! 
but  it  is  a  beast." 

"An  out  and  out  monstrosity,"  the  but- 
ler agreed. 

Time  passed;  the  servants  went  their 
ways ;  the  parlor  gas  purred  soothingly ;  the 
bric-a-brac  engaged  in  whispered  consulta- 
tion. Whatever  happened,  the  monstrosity 
should  be  made  to  feel  its  isolation — and  it 
did.  It  stood  a  thing  apart  from  its  envi- 
ronment; it  seemed  to  sigh,  and  presently 
its  plebeian  breast  began  to  heave  as  with 
emotion.  A  crack  developed  in  its  tufted 
side,  a  pair  of  eyes  appeared  within  the 
crack.  The  gas  purred  on;  sounds  from 
the  servants'  hall  below  suggested  that  the 

iii.a. 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

sherry  had  begun  to  express  itself  in  terms 
of  merriment.  The  crack  grew  wider  until 
the  sofa  opened  like  a  fat  and  flowery 
trunk.  The  eyes  became  a  head,  the  head  a 
man,  who  sat  upon  the  sofa's  edge  and 
looked  about  him. 

"  All  zings  is  the  same,"  he  murmured  to 
himself  in  broken  English.  "  Nothing  is 
changed  except  that  ze  arrangements  are  in 
less  taste  zan  in  my  time.  Ah,  people  do 
not  know  when  zay  have  ze  good  fortune." 

He  sighed,  and,  rising,  ventured  one 
large  foot,  encased  in  a  felt  shoe,  upon  the 
rug.  He  stood  and  gazed  about  him  lov- 
ingly, as  one  who  contemplates  inanimate 
things  once  dear.  He  moved  with  noiseless 
caution  to  the  nearest  door  and  disap- 
peared. Presently  he  returned,  bearing  a 
salver  laden  with  pieces  of  silver  from  the 
dining-room — an  ice-pitcher,  an  epergne, 
some  dishes;  these  he  proceeded  deftly  to 
roll  in  flannel  bags,  depositing  each  with 
loving  care  in  the  interior  of  the  Monstros- 
ity.     Another   expedition   resulted   in   an 

114* 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP. 

equally  attractive  lot  of  plate,  to  be  be- 
stowed as  carefuUy.  Next,  stepping  to  the 
mantel-piece,  he  selected  a  modest  pair  of 
Dresden  images  from  the  assortment  there 
displayed. 

"  These,"  he  soliloquized,  "  are  mine  un- 
doubtedly. I  might  have  broken  them  a 
thousand  times  and  did  not,  and,  therefore, 
they  are  mine." 

He  laid  the  figures  tenderly  and  almost 
with  a  sigh  beside  the  silver  and  closed  the 
heavy  tufted  lid  upon  them. 

"  I  will  go  upstairs  for  ze  last  time,"  he 
mused,  a  trace  of  sadness  on  his  Gallic  fea- 
tures, "and  behold  if  Madame  is  still  as 
careless  with  her  jewel-box  as  in  old  days. 
I  will  ascertain  for  myself  if  Monsieur  stiU 
sticks  his  scarf-pins  in  ze  pin-cushion.  .  .  . 
Ah,  but  it  is  depressing  to  revisit  once  fa- 
miliar scenes.    It  makes  one  shed  ze  tear." 

The  tall  clock  in  the  hall  struck  half -past 
eight. 

Even  as  the  clock  struck  the  butler  below 
was  rising  to  propose  a  toast. 

115 


ON     THE     LIGHTSHIP 


(c  < 


Here's  to  those  that  love  us,'"  it  be- 
gan, and  went  on:  "'Here's  to  us  that 
love  those/  " — but  as  this  was  not  the  way 
it  should  have  gone  on,  the  butler  paused 
and  blinked  in  disapproval  at  the  cook,  who 
laughed. 

"  '  Here's  to  those  that  love  those  that 
love  those  that  love  those,' "  he  persisted 
solemnly,  and  might  have  continued  the 
hierarch}^  still  further  had  not  an  electric 
summons  from  the  front  door  interrupted 
him. 

"  Sakes!  "  cried  the  cook,  "  what  can  that 
be?" 

"More  presents,"  the  housemaid  sug- 
gested. 

"Another  monstrosity,  I'll  be  bound," 
the  butler  chuckled,  stumbling  from  the 
room,    "  Let'sh  all  go  shee  about  it." 

He  climbed  the  stairs  unsteadily?  and 
made  his  way  along  the  hall  with  noticeable 
digressions  from  an  even  course. 

"  '  Here's  to  those  that  love  us  that  love 
them,' "  he  caroled  cheerily,  and  when,  with 

116 


ON    aiHE    LIGHTSHIP. 

fumbling  fingers,  he  had  thrown  the  front 
door  open,  his  eyes,  still  blinking,  failed  to 
perceive  for  the  moment  that  Mr.  Liver- 
more  himself  stood  on  the  threshold,  sur- 
rounded by  some  half  a  score  of  muffled 
figures. 

"  Bates,"  began  Mr.  Livermore,  "  I  for- 
got my  latch-key,  and    ..." 

"  Get  away  with  you,"  cried  cheerful  Mr. 
Bates ;  "  we've  got  all  the  monstrosities  we 
want  already.  '  Here's  to  them  that  love 
them  that  we  love  '    .    .    ." 

*'  Bates,"  said  Mr.  Livermore,  "  you're 
drunk." 

"Shir,"  said  Bates;  "shir,  I  ashure  you 
sherry  was  not  fit  to  sherve  upstairs." 

"  Bates,"  said  Mr,  Livermore,  "  you  are 
very  drunk." 

"  Shir,"  said  Bates,  "  shir,  I  ashure  you 
it's  all  owing  to  that  monstrosity.  Mon- 
strosity not  fit  to  sherve  upstairs." 

Meanwhile  INIrs.  Livermore  had  lost  no 
time  in  pushing  past  her  husband  into  the 
hall,  followed  by  Selma,  followed  by  her 

117 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

widowed  mother,  Mrs.  Pease,  and  Mr.  Ber- 
tram Pease,  her  brother,  and  Miss  McCunn, 
to  whom  Mr.  Pease  was  supposed  to  be 
attentive,  and  Cousin  Laura  Fanshaw,  and 
the  two  Misses  Mapes,  and  Mr.  Sellars,  and 
Doctor  Van  Cott,  all  old  friends,  and  a 
young  gentleman  by  the  name  of  Mickle- 
worth,  whom  nobody  knew  much  about,  ex- 
cept Selma,  who,  for  reasons  of  her  own, 
kept  her  knowledge  to  herself.  He  had 
been  invited  to  the  family  party  as  a  chum 
of  Cousin  Dick  Busby's,  and  was  to  have 
come  with  Dick,  but  the  latter  gentleman, 
at  the  last  moment  having  received  a  more 
promising  invitation,  had  sent  word  that  he 
was  ill. 

While  Mr.  Livermore  drew  Bates  aside, 
the  housemaid  busied  herself  with  the 
ladies'  wraps. 

"You're  through  dinner  early,  ma'am," 
she  said  to  Mrs.  Livermore. 

"We  haven't  had  any  dinner,  Mary 
Anne,"  replied  her  mistress.  "Mother's 
range  exploded,  or  something  awful  hap- 

118 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

pened  to  the  pipes  just  after  we  sat  down, 
and  everything  was  ruined.  So  we  brought 
the  entire  party  here  in  cabs.  Tell  cook  she 
must  give  us  some  sort  of  a  meal  at  once 
.  .  •  canned  tomato  soup  to  begin  with, 
followed  by  cold  canned  tongue,  and  .  .  ." 

"  The  breakfast  iishballs,"  suggested 
Mary  Anne. 

"Excellent!"  exclaimed  her  mistress. 
"And  after  that  we  might  have    .    .    ." 

"  Marmalade,"  suggested  Mary  Anne. 

"And  buckwheat  cakes,"  Selma  inter- 
rupted. 

Of    course,"    her    mother    acquiesced, 

that  will  have  to  do  .  •  .  with  lots  of 
bread  and  butter.  .  .  .  And  now,"  she 
added  cheerfully,  turning  to  her  guests, 
"we'll  all  go  into  the  drawing-room  and 
guess  conundrums  till  dinner  is  ready. 
How  fortunate  it  was  that  we  had  had  our 
oysters  before  the  accident ! " 

"My  dear,"  said  Mr.  Livermore  in  a 
whisper,  "  I  fear  that  Bates  is  hopelessly 
intoxicated." 

119 


<c 


ON    KHE    LIGHTSHIE 

"Oh,  Lemuel,  what  are  we  to  do?" 
gasped  the  hostess,  clutching  the  hat-rack 
for  support. 

They  were  alone  together  in  the  hall  and 
face  to  face  with  a  dilemma. 

I  give  it  up,"  said  Mr.  Livermore. 
You  can't,"  rejoined  his  wife.   "  You'll 
have  to  think  of  something." 

"  Perhaps,"  suggested  the  gentleman 
foolishly,  "an  angel  might  be  induced  to 
come  down  from  heaven   ..." 

But  his  words  were  truer  than  he 
thought;  a  figure  which  had  been  creeping 
unobserved  down  the  stairs  now  stood  be- 
fore them. 

"Auguste!"  gasped  Mrs.  Livermore, 
with  an  almost  superstitious  start. 

"Yes,  Madame,"  replied  her  former 
servant,  while  his  benignant  smile  brought 
reassurance;  "it  is  1.  I  have  taken  ze  lib- 
erty of  dropping  in  to  wish  Madame  a 
merry  Christmas." 

"Thank  Heaven!"  cried  the  Hostess,  re- 
straining her  impulse  to  fall  upon  his  neck. 

120 


ON    .THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"  Now  you  must  stay  and  help  us  out  of 
our  difficulties.  You  know  exactly  where 
all  the  silver  is," 

"Perfectly,"  replied  the  man  respect- 
fully, "  and  it  will  give  me  great  pleasure 
to  once  more  serve  Madame." 

"Auguste,"  said  Mr.  Livermore,  "let 
bygones  be  forgotten.  Go  quickly  and  set 
the  table,  and  put  on  everything  to  make  it 
look  attractive." 

"  Pardon,  Monsieur,"  Auguste  protested. 
"  might  it  not  seem  out  of  place  to  display 
too  much  silver  at  such  a  simple  meal? " 

"  He  is  right,"  declared  Mrs.  Livermore, 
"Auguste  is  right.  His  taste  was  always 
perfect — even  in  champagne." 

Further  discussion  was  prevented  for  the 
time  by  Selma's  appearance  at  the  draw- 
ing-room door,  convulsed  with  mirth.  Close 
at  her  side  stood  JMr.  Mickleworth,  also 
laughing. 

"Oh,  mamma!"  cried  the  daughter  of 
the  house,  "  will  you  come  and  see  what 
somebody  has  sent  us  as  a  present?     The 

121 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

ugliest  thing  conceivable,  an  absolute  mon- 
strosity." 

But  the  Livermores  were  thankful  for 
the  sofa,  and  the  diversion  which  it  brought. 
As  no  one  present  could  possibly  have  made 
such  a  choice,  they  felt  at  liberty  to  abuse  it 
to  their  hearts'  content,  and  they  stood  just 
then  in  dire  need  of  something  to  abuse 
•  .  .  until  the  fishballs  filled  the  atmos- 
phere >vith  welcome  fragrance. 

Later,  after  Auguste  had  compounded 
his  celebrated  punch,  they  said  some  most 
amusing  things  about  the  lounge. 

"  It  would  make  a  capital  wedding  gift," 
laughed  Mr.  Livermore,  with  a  sly  glance 
at  Mr.  Bertram  Pease,  and  Miss  McCunn 
declared  that  she  would  die  single  rather 
than  begin  married  life  in  the  society  of 
the  monstrosity. 

As  time  went  on  the  spirit  of  the  joyous 
season  filled  the  company,  and  Yule-tide 
pastimes  were  suggested. 

"  In  my  young  days,"  said  Mrs.  Pease, 
growing  distinctly  sporty,  "  we  used  to  play 

122 


ox     THE     LIGHTSHIP 

hide-and-seek  all  over  the  old  homestead, 
and  whoever  found  the  person  hiding  was 
entitled  to  a  kiss." 

"Capital!"  pronounced  Doctor  Van 
Cott,  debating"  which  of  the  ]Misses  Mapes 
a  prosperous  practitioner  would  be  most 
fortunate  in  finding. 

"  Let's  play  it  now,"  cried  Uncle  Ber- 
tram, knowing  quite  well  whom  he  himself 
should  seek  most  diligently. 

"Good!"  put  in  Mr.  Mickleworth,  "111 
be  It  first.  All  go  into  the  little  smoking- 
room,  and  when  I  say  '  Coo  '  come  out  and 
look  for  me."  To  Selma  he  added,  in  a 
whisper,  "If  you,  while  searching,  should 
hum  'In  the  Gloaming'  softly,  may  I 
scratch  to  let  you  know  where  I  am? " 

Miss  Livermore  blushed. 

Now,  of  course,  the  game  was  all  a  joke, 
not  to  be  taken  seriously,  and  to  make  the 
situation  funnier,  Mr.  INIickleworth,  who, 
in  his  boarding-house  commonly  kept  his 
evening  clothes  in  a  divan  box,  went 
direct  to  the  monstrosity  and  climbed  in, 

123 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

closing  the  lid  upon  himself.  But,  as  it 
happened,  Mr.  Mickleworth's  box  was  old- 
fashioned  and  unprovided  with  the  latest 
patent  catch,  impregnable  to  those  unac- 
quainted with  the  combination.  His  posi- 
tion, therefore,  in  the  lounge's  dark  interior 
must  have  been  alarming  for  a  moment, 
had  he  not  discovered  an  ample  breathing 
hole,  concealed  from  outward  observation 
by  a  fringe.  Some  bundles,  hard  and  angu- 
lar, occasioned  but  a  trifling  inconvenience 
at  his  feet. 

"Coo!"  cried  Mr.  Mickleworth  through 
the  hole,  when  he  had  allowed  sufficient  time 
to  mystify  his  fellow  players.  But  for  a 
moment  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  others 
had  not  been  playing  fair,  for  there  were 
voices  speaking  close  to  him. 

*'  Say,  you're  a  slick  one,  Frenchy," 
somebody  remarked  in  unfamiliar  accents. 
"  You'll  have  your  picture  in  the  Gallery 

yet." 

"Zat  is  all  right,"  a  foreign  voice  re- 
plied, "  I  know  my  business." 

Now  others  appeared  to  join  in  the  con- 

124 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

versation,  and  it  became  evident  that  the 
entire  company  had  entered, 

"Let  me  out!"  cried  Mr.  Mickleworth, 
but  in  the  general  Babel  no  one  heard,  and 
presently  Mrs.  Livermore's  silvery  notes 
were  audible  above  the  rest. 

"  It  was  a  very  stupid  mistake,"  she  said. 
*'  You  should  have  known  such  an  ugly 
thing  could  not  be  for  us.  Please  take  it 
away  at  once,  and  another  time  be  more 
careful  about  reading  the  address." 

"  I'm  sorry,  mum,"  retorted  somebody, 
"  but  I  do  hope  you  won't  go  for  to  report 
us  to  the  firm?    We're  just  pore  working- 


men." 


a 


You  have  probably  been  drinking,"  put 
in  Mr.  Livermore  magnanimously,  "  and  as 
it  is  Christmas  we  will  overlook  the  error. 
Auguste,  see  that  they  do  not  scratch  the 
wood- work." 

"Hurrah!"  cried  Selma  joyfully.  "It's 
going.  The  Monstrosity  is  being  taken 
away.  I  hope  whoever  gets  it  will  appre- 
ciate its  merits  more  than  we  did." 

"  Let  me  out !    Let  me  out ! "  cried  Mr. 

[125 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

Mickleworth,  but  by  this  time  all  the  guests 
were  chattering  louder  than  ever. 

Doctor  Van  Cott  and  the  two  Misses 
Mapes  joined  hands  and  danced  as  King 
David  did  before  the  Ark.  Mr.  Bertram 
Pease  at  the  piano  began  to  play  the  first 
selection  that  occurred  to  him,  which 
chanced  to  be  the  Wedding  March.  The 
others  clapped  their  hands  and  cheered. 

"Let  me  out!"  cried  Mr.  Mickleworth 
for  the  last  time  from  his  prison,  but  an 
oily  apron  was  now  pressed  tight  against 
the  hole,  and  he  caught  the  whispered  ob- 
servation : 

"  Say,  Frenchy,  you  must  have  chucked 
the  cat  in  by  mistake." 

He  felt  himself  raised,  jolted,  tipped;  he 
felt  the  chill  of  cold  night  air  as  it  found 
access  through  the  crack.  He  realized  that 
he  was  being  thrust  feet  first  into  a  van 
and  driven  rapidly,  he  knew  not  where. 

"  And  now,"  said  Mr.  Sellars,  "  I  think 
we  had  better  look  for  Mr.  Mickleworth." 

126 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"Let  us  begin  in  the  butler's  pantry," 
suggested  Cousin  Laura  Fanshaw,  not  loud 
enough  for  anyone  else  to  hear. 

The  Christmas  party  sought  high  and 
low;  they  penetrated  to  the  upper  floors, 
and  not  until  Selma  had  sung  "In  the 
Gloaming "  before  every  closet  door  did 
they  give  up  the  quest. 

"  It's  most  mysterious,"  asserted  the  host. 

"  It's  worse,"  his  wife  corrected  him ; 
"  it's  most  ill-bred." 

"  Oh,  we  must  look  again,"  cried  Selma, 
now  in  real  distress;  "he  may  be  lying 
somewhere  faint  and  ill." 

"Nonsense!"  rejoined  Mrs.  Pease. 
"  Leave  him  alone,  and,  my  word  for  it,  he 
will  make  his  appearance  in  a  little  while 
looking  silly  enough.  Lemuel,  a  glass  of 
water,  if  you  please." 

While  the  good  lady  sank  exhausted  to 
a  chair,  her  devoted  son-in-law  hastened  to 
the  dining-room  to  supply  her  want. 

"  The  ice-pitcher  is  not  there,"  he  said, 
returning.    "  I'll  ring." 

127 


ON    tTHE    LIGHTSHIP 

"But  the  pitcher  must  be  in  its  usual 
place  on  the  sideboard  with  the  other  sil- 
ver," his  wife  protested. 

"  But  all  the  same,  it  isn't,"  he  insisted. 
*'  There  is  nothing  on  the  sideboard;  not  a 
thing.     Come  see  for  yourself." 

This  gave  occasion  for  the  playful  aphor- 
ism concerning  the  inability  of  man  to  see 
beyond  his  nose,  but  presently  a  scream 
from  Mrs.  Livermore  confirmed  her  hus- 
band's statement. 

"My  pitcher!"  she  cried  piteously. 
"My  silver  dishes!  My  epergne!  Where 
have  they  gone?    Where  is  Auguste?" 

"  Auguste,"  said  Mary  Anne,  who, 
scenting  an  excitement,  now  ran  up  the 
kitchen  stairs,  "  has  also  gone.  He  drove 
oif  with  the  sofa  in  the  van." 

"With  the  sofa?" 

"Yes,  ma'am;  sitting  on  it." 

"  Robbed! "  cried  Mr.  Livermore,  with  a 
lightning  flash  of  keen  conviction,  and  the 
entire  company  repeated  in  a  hollow  chorus : 

"Robbed!" 

128 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

But  Mr.  Livermore's  lightning,  after  the 
manner  of  such  fluids,  was  not  satisfied  to 
score  a  single  bull's-eye. 

"  It  was  a  deep  conspiracy/*  he  went  on, 
becoming  clairvoyant,  "  and  ten  to  one  that 
Mickle worth  young  man  was  in  the  plot." 

"  You  shall  not  say  such  horrid  things  of 
him,  papa,"  cried  Selma. 

"  A  thief!  "  persisted  Mr.  Livermore,  dis- 
regarding her.  "A  villain  in  disguise!  I 
don't  believe  that  this  impostor  was  ever 
Cousin  Dick's  old  chum." 

"  Oh,  papa,"  Selma  interrupted,  trem- 
bling; "Dick  himself  introduced  Mr.  Mic- 
kle worth  to  me  at  Southampton  last  sum- 
mer. I  did  not  tell  you  about  it  till 
you  could  know  him  and  see  how  nice  he 
is." 

"  Nice?  "  gasped  her  mother.     "  Nice? " 

"Yes,  mamma,"  Selma  cried,  sobbing, 
but  still  undaunted;  "awfully  nice,  and  he 
can  write  the  most  respectful  little  notes." 

"  Notes?  "  screamed  her  mother.  "  Selma, 
you  stand  there  and  tell  me  you  have  cor- 

129 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

responded   with    a   burglar?      Oh,   that    I 
should  have  lived  to  see  this  day !  " 

Miss  McCunn,  much  disturbed,  had  re- 
tired to  the  smoking-room,  where  Mr.  Ber- 
tram Pease  did  all  he  could  to  comfort  her. 
Doctor  Van  Cott  on  the  stairs  had  put  an 
impartial  arm  about  each  of  the  Misses 
Mapes.  Cousin  Laura  Fanshaw,  behind  a 
screen,  wept  copiously  on  Mr.  Sellars's  left 
lapel. 

"  In  my  young  days,"  said  Mrs.  Pease, 
"  we  kept  a  closer  watch  on  both  our  chil- 
dren and  our  silverware." 

"  Mother,"  cried  Mrs.  Livermore,  "  don't 
make  things  worse  by  being  aggravating. 
Poor  Selma  is  suiFering  enough." 

"  I  am  not  suffering  at  all,"  protested 
Selma  stoutly.  "  My  faith  in  George  re- 
mains unshaken." 

George!"      ejaculated     her     mother. 

Lemuel,  do  you  hear? " 

I  do,"  replied  Mr.  Livermore,  "  and  I'll 
attend  to  George's  case  just  as  soon  as  I 
can  get  Mulberry  Street  on  the  telephone." 

ISO 


(C 


ON     THE     LIGHTSHIP 

"  Stop! "  cried  his  wife;  "we  must  avoid 
a  scandal." 

The  doorbell,  which  had  taken  such  an 
active  part  in  this  eventful  evening,  now 
rang  again.  A  silence  followed,  while  the 
form  of  Bates  was  seen  to  pass  through  the 
hall.  Then,  almost  with  his  accustomed 
dignity,  though  somewhat  pale  and  wet 
about  the  head,  he  reappeared. 

"Mr.  Mickleworth !  "  he  announced. 

"I  knew  itl"  Selma  cried,  with  jubila- 
tion. 

And  Mr.  Mickleworth  it  was,  in  truth, 
though  much  disheveled  as  to  dress.  A 
streak  of  mud  lay  on  his  rumpled  shirt- 
front,  and  his  evening  coat  suggested  active 
combat.  From  each  shoulder  hung  a  nose- 
bag, such  as  teamsters  use  for  feeding 
horses  in  the  street,  and  each  bag  bulged 
with  priceless  silver  heirlooms.  Behind  him 
came  a  stalwart  minion  of  the  law,  bearing 
the  family  ice-pitcher  on  a  massive  salver. 

"  Ah,  ha !  "  cried  Mr.  Livermore  compla- 
cently.   "  So,  ho!    '  Caught  with  the  goods 

isi 


ON    iTHE    LIGHTSHIP 

on,'  as  you  say  officially.  You  have  done 
well,  officer,  and  this  night's  work  shall  not 
go  unrewarded." 

"  It  wasn't  me,"  the  policeman  protested 
ungrammatically;  "this  here  young  feller 
did  it  all  himself." 

"  That  we  already  know,"  said  Mrs.  Liv- 
ermore. 

"Be  quiet,  my  child,  until  we  hear  the 
story,"  put  in  Mrs.  Pease,  who  usually  ob- 
jected to  her  daughter's  methods. 

And  the  i)oliceman  told  his  tale. 

"  This  here  young  chap,"  he  said,  witK 
generous  fervor,  "  must  be  a  regular  Her- 
culaneum.  He  burst  the  lock  and  stopped 
the  van  and  knocked  two  of  the  robbers  out 
of  time.  When  I  came  up  he  had  the 
Frenchman  by  the  throat,  a-rolling  of  him 
in  the  mud.  All  I  had  to  do  was  to  ring 
for  the  patrol,  and  help  him  bring  the  stuff 
right  back  to  you  for  recognition." 

"Ahem!"  said  Mr.  Livermore,  "Ahem! 
Ahem!" 

"  Papa,"  cried  Selma,  while  tears  of  tri- 

132 


ON    tTHE    LIGHTSHIP 

umph  made  her  eyes  more  bright,  "  aren't 
you  going  to  shake  hands  with  George?" 

And  thereupon  Mr.  Livermore  cordially 
enough  did  shake  hands  with  George. 

"  Papa,"  said  Selma,  "  won't  you  tell 
George  that  his  part  in  this  night's  w^ork 
shall  not  go  unrewarded?  " 

*'  Oh,  tell  him  that  yourself,"  cried  old 
Mrs.  Pease  impatiently. 

In  the  drawing-room  Mr.  Bertram  Pease 
was  playing  the  Wedding  March. 


iss 


THE    PRIESTESS   OF   AMEN   RA 


THE    PRIESTESS    OE   AMEN   RA 

IN  tHe  cold  light  from  the  tall  studio 
window  Frank  INIorewood's  face 
seemed  almost  haggard,  and  certainly 
the  right  hand  which  held  the  little 
square  of  photographic  paper  trembled  per- 
ceptibly. His  left  hand  still  retained  its 
glove,  although  he  had  been  George  Dun- 
barton's  guest  for  fully  half  an  hour;  his 
hat  was  pushed  back  on  his  head,  his  cane 
beneath  his  arm,  as  though  he  had  forgot- 
ten everything  except  the  negative  before 
his  eyes. 

"  Dunbarton,"  he  demanded,  with  an  ob- 
vious effort  at  unconcern,  "  is  this  some  silly 
trick  you  have  been  playing  me?  " 

The  other,   openly  impatient,  shrugged 

his  shoulders  beneath  the  velvet  painter's 

jacket,  and  took  a  step  toward  the  Frisian 

cabinet  upon  which  lay  a  box  of  cigarettes. 

"A  trick,  indeed!"  he  repeated  across 

137 


ON    tTHE    LIGHTSHIP 

the  flaming  match.  "You  must  think  I 
have  very  Httle  on  my  mind!  "  Then,  under 
the  inspiring  influence  of  the  Melachrino, 
his  just  resentment  of  the  charge  expressed 
itself  more  vehemently.  "  You  break  in 
upon  me  like  a  wild  man;  you  insist  that  I 
stop  in  my  serious  work  to  develop  your 
wretched  little  film;  you  watch  every  step 
of  the  process  with  the  most  unflattering 
suspicion,  and  now,  by  Jove,  you're  not 
satisfied!" 

"  Dunbarton,"  Morewood  calmly  replied, 
holding  the  print  above  his  head,  "  you  can- 
not realize  what  this  may  mean  to  me;  the 
thing  is  too  strange,  too  weird." 

Dunbarton  blew  a  smoke  ring  toward  the 
ceiling,  thoughtfully.  "  These  amateur 
snap-shots  are  usually  a  trifie  weird,"  he 
admitted,  "  they  seldom  do  the  subject  jus- 
tice, especially  in  the  eyes  of  ardent  admi- 
ration. Better  keep  your  treasure  covered 
up,  old  man,  if  you  don't  want  it  to  fade 
out  altogether.  It  isn't  fixed,  you  know; 
it's  just  a  negative." 

1S8 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP. 

"  It's  the  most  positive  thing  that  ever 
came  into  the  world,"  his  visitor  asserted; 
"  the  truest,  the  most  wonderful." 

"  And  so  have  twenty  other  pretty  faces 
been  for  you,  my  dear  boy,"  the  confidant 
urged.  "Each  wonder  commonly  endures 
about  a  month." 

"  This  wonder  has  endured  three  thou- 
sand years  and  more,"  retorted  More  wood, 
once  more  regarding  the  photograph  with 
reverent  awe. 

"A  case  of  re-incarnation,  I  suppose?" 
the  other  suggested  lightly,  with  a  glance 
at  his  neglected  easel  that  might  have  been 
accepted  as  a  hint.  "  You'll  excuse  me  if  I 
daub  a  little  on  the  masterpiece  while  the 
light  lasts?"  he  added.  "Going;  no? 
Well,  I'm  glad  to  have  you  stay.  Trouble? 
Oh,  none  at  all.  Always  happy  to  oblige  a 
friend.  Of  course,  if  vou  mean  to  follow 
up  photography  you  ought  to  learn  how  to 
do  these  little  things  for  yourself.  And,  by 
the  way,  do  get  a  decent  camera  instead  of 
a  Cheap  Jack  department  store  affair  such 

139 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

as  every  Seeing  New  Yorker  has  slung 
across  his  shoulder.  Get  out  of  the  light, 
please.  Sit  down,  do!  Take  off  your  hat; 
have  a  cigarette;  make  yourself  comfort- 
able, confound  you! " 

"  Thanks,  old  man,"  Morewood  an- 
swered, "  I  won't  smoke;  and,  as  for  work 
this  afternoon,  I  mean  to  tell  you  something 
which  shall  put  all  other  thoughts  out  of 
your  head  for  a  while.  I  mean  to  tell  you 
presently  of  the  most  wonderful  thing  that 
ever  happened  in  the  world." 

"Great  Scott!"  the  artist  groaned;  "is 
it  as  bad  as  that?  Please  keep  your  stick  a 
little  farther  from  my  canvas,  if  you  don't 
mind." 

"  It's  quite  a  long  story,"  Morewood  ad- 
mitted, disposing  of  the  cane. 

"Most  of  yours  are!"  his  friend  inter- 
jected. 

Already  the  shadows  were  beginning  to 
invade  the  painter's  spacious  studio;  lurk- 
ing in  the  folds  of  Flemish  tapestry  and 
Oriental  stuffs,  and  filling  distant  corners 
where  the  glint  of  steel  and  copper  arms 

140 


ON    rTrHE    LIGHTSHIP 

and  arabesques  suggested  the  twinkling 
eyes  of  impish  and  unearthly  listeners.  If 
there  is  a  time  for  everything,  the  early  twi- 
light is  the  season  for  story-telling,  and  the 
painter  felt  far  less  reluctance  than  he 
feigned  when  he  resigned  himself  to  listen. 
Throwing  himself  upon  a  divan  and  clasp- 
ing his  hands  about  an  elevated  knee,  he 
said,  "  Begin  your  yarn,  old  fellow,  I'm 
all  attention." 

Morewood  tooK  oif  his  Hat,  bestrode  a 
chair,  and  rested  both  elbows  on  its 
back. 

"  Dunbarton,^'  He  remarked,  by  way  of 
introduction,  "I  don't  suppose  you  have 
ever  so  mucK  as  heard  of  the  college  of 
Amen  Ra?" 

"  Never  in  my  life! "  the  other  admitted 
frankly.  "  Where  under  the  sun  may  be  the 
college  of  Amen  Ra? " 

''  No  longer  anywhere  beneath  tHe  sun," 
Morewood  replied,  "but  it  used  to  be  in 
Thebes  about  sixteen  hundred  years  before 
Christ,  as  nearly  as  I  can  remember." 

"Quite   near   enough,"   Dunbarton   as- 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

sented  amiably.  "  We  will  not  let  a  century 
or  so  retard  a  narrative  which  is  to  compre- 
hend three  thousand  years." 

"  Don't  jump  too  quickly  at  conclu- 
sions!" protested  More  wood.  "The  story 
as  I  know  it  goes  no  farther  back  than  the 
early  sixties,  when  a  party  of  five  friends 
from  Philadelphia " 

"  Quakers?  "  inquired  the  painter. 

"I  don't  know!"  replied  the  other,  not 
without  a  touch  of  irritation.  "  Five  ac- 
quaintances, men  of  cultivation  and  means, 
who  in  the  course  of  travel  ascended  the 
Nile  as  far  as  the  first  cataract.  At  Luxor 
they  rested  for  a  week,  with  a  view  to  visit- 
ing the  site  of  the  great  city  of  Thebes,  and 
especially  its  marvelous  and  mystic  temple 
of  Amen  Ra,  unequaled  upon  earth  for  the 
sublimity  of  its  ruined  magnificence " 

"  For  further  particulars,  see  Baedeker! " 
Dunbarton  muttered. 

"Upon  the  night  of  their  arrival,"  con- 
tinued the  narrator,  unheeding  the  inter- 
ruption, "  a  fete  was  given  in  their  honor 

142 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

by  the  Consul,  Mustapha  Aga.  It  was  in 
the  middle  of  this  festivity,  and  during  a 
dance  by  the  Gaivasi  girls  of  Luxor,  that  a 
strange  nomad  from  the  desert  made  his 
appearance  unexpectedly.  The  Sheik  Ben 
Ali,  he  was  called,  and  his  errand  was  to  in- 
form Mustapha  Aga  of  the  discovery,  near 
a  certain  oasis,  of  an  object  of  unusual  in- 
terest, nothing  less  than  a  mimimy  case  of 
surpassing  beauty  which  had  once  held  the 
body  of  a  high  priestess  of  Amen  Ra." 

"  Hold  on! "  Dunbarton  interrupted,  re- 
linquishing his  grasp  upon  his  knee.  "  Your 
local  color  is  so  intense  that  I  feel  mvself 
in  danger  of  becoming  interested." 

**  Just  wait  until  I  get  a  little  farther," 
answered  Morewood,  with  a  touch  of  tri- 
umph; "I  only  wish  you  could  hear  the 
story  as  it  was  told  to  me." 

"  By  whom,  if  one  might  ask? "  inquired 
Dunbarton,  and  his  friend  replied  impres- 
sively : 

"  By  a  venerable  man  whom  I  met  by  the 
merest  chance  late  one  afternoon  in  the 

143 


ON    lTjHE    lightship 

Egyptian  room  of  the  Metropolitan  Mu- 
seum— a  strange  old  man,  poorly  dressed, 
but  who  had  evidently  seen  better  days,  for 
he  had  traveled  much  in  the  East  and  knew 
the  country  well." 

"  I  recognize  the  type,"  Dunbarton  com- 
mented, "  and  make  no  doubt  your  learned 
friend  was  in  the  end  prevailed  upon  to 
accept  a  trifling  loan " 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  story," 
Morewood  retorted.  **  How  far  had  I 
got? " 

"  You  were  in  Luxor,  at  the  last  re- 
ports," the  other  prompted,  "  attending  an 
informal  little  dance  of  Gaivasi  ladies." 

"Yes,  yes,"  cried  Morewood,  taking  up 
his  thread  again.  "  It  was,  indeed,  a  scene 
to  captivate  the  traveler's  fancy." 
Never  mind  the  scene !  " 
I  don't  intend  to.  Escorted  by  Musta- 
pha  Aga  and  his  guard,  they  left  the  revels 
and  followed  the  mysterious  sheik  out  into 
the  desert  to  a  grove  of  palm-trees,  where, 

T44 


(C 


ON    OGHE    LIGHTSHIP. 

bathed  in  the  Egyptian  moonlight,  lay  the 
marvelous  mummy-case." 

"What  had  become  of  the  mummy?" 
asked  Dunbarton. 

"Hush!"  Morewood  whispered  rever- 
ently. *'  Hear  the  story.  The  case,  though 
decorated  throughout  with  a  surpassing 
skill,  was  most  remarkable  for  the  extreme 
beauty  of  the  woman's  face  portrayed  upon 
its  upper  end,  in  colors  which  had  defied 
the  ravages  of  time." 

"  I  know  the  kind! "  the  painter  put  in. 
**  Flat  nose,  wdde  mouth,  two  staring  eyes, 
that  might  be  either  rights  or  lefts." 

"  The  art  of  that  period  was,  as  we  know, 
conventional,"  returned  Morewood,  "and 
it  was  that  very  fact  which  made  this  par- 
ticular painting  so  remarkable,  for  it  was 
realistic,  vivid;  it  conveyed,  indeed,  a  dis- 
tinct impression  of  personality." 

"Oh,  amazing!"  Dunbarton  murmured. 

"The  most  amazing  thing  in  the  world, 
as  you  yourself  will  presently  admit,"  con- 

145 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIE 

tinued  the  story-teller.  "  You  may  believe 
the  travelers  were  overjoyed  to  be  the  first 
outsiders  to  whom  the  treasure  had  been 
shown.  They  were  not  only  men  of  talent 
and  cultivation,  but  each  was  abundantly 
able  to  pay  the  very  moderate  price  de- 
manded by  the  sheik,  and  they  lost  no  time 
in  closing  the  bargain.  To  avoid  conten- 
tion, they  drew  lots  among  themselves  for 
the  privilege  of  becoming  the  owner  of  the 
mummy-case." 

Here  the  narrator  made  an  effective 
pause,  and  Dunbarton  took  the  opportunity 
to  light  another  cigarette. 

"  At  first,"  pursued  Morewood,  "  good 
fortune  seemed  to  favor  the  eldest  of  the 
party,  who  was  designated  to  me  simply  as 
Mr,  X.,  though  I  strongly  suspect  him  to 
have  been  no  other  than  my  old  acquaint- 
ance of  the  Museum.  But  he  had  a  gener- 
ous disposition,  and,  touched  by  the  keen 
disappointment  of  another  member  of  the 
party,  he  relinquished  his  rights  in  favor  of 
the  second  liighest  number,  after  an  owner- 

U6 


ON    OGHE    LIGHTSHIP 

ship  of  barely  thirty  seconds.  Mr.  P.  forth- 
with became  the  sole  possessor  of  the  cov- 
eted object.  I  need  not  now  recount  the 
circumstances  which  led  in  the  course  of  a 
few  months  to  the  transfer  of  the  property 
to  each  in  turn  of  the  remaining  members 
of  the  company,  Mr.  G.  and  Mr.  Q.  But 
here  begins  the  mystery." 

Another  dramatic  pause  and  the 
speaker's  voice  deepened. 

"  Within  the  year,  P.  lost  his  life  by  the 
explosion  of  a  fowling  piece  without  visible 
cause;  G.  disappeared  while  bathing  in  the 
Nile  in  the  vicinity  of  a  crocodile  pool,  and 
Q,,  after  a  period  of  captivity  among  hos- 
tile Arabs,  died  of  a  snake  bite.  Mr.  X. 
alone  survived,  and  arrived  in  Cairo  broken 
in  health,  only  to  learn  that  the  greater  part 
of  his  fortune  had  been  lost  through  the 
knavery  of  an  agent.  Truly,  the  priestess 
of  Amen  Ra  had  signified  her  displeasure 
in  a  most  convincing  manner." 

"Who  the  deuce  was   she?"  demanded 

Dunbarton. 

[1455 


ON    -THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"Why,  the  mummy,  as  I  should  have 
told  you." 

"  But  you  didn't,"  remarked  the  painter. 
"And  why  do  you  suppose  she  was  dis- 
pleased?" 

"  Because,"  the  other  replied,  with  con- 
viction, "  she  had  been  accustomed  in  life 
to  veneration,  worship,  love,  and  naturally 
she  did  not  like  to  have  her  cofBn  knocked 
about  from  place  to  place." 

"  I  see,"  Dunbarton  admitted  gravely, 
but  with  the  suspicion  of  a  yawn  sup- 
pressed.   "  What  became  of  the  coffin? " 

"  It  had  been  shipped  meanwhile  to  Ger- 
mantown  as  a  gift  to  the  aunt  of  the  last 
owner,  a  lady  of  so  far  unblemished  repu- 
tation, who  almost  unmediately  acquired 
the  cocaine  habit." 

"What?  Cocaine  in  the  sixties?"  cried 
the  painter  captiously. 

"Perhaps  it  may  have  been  opium," 
Morewood  admitted.  "  At  all  events  she 
took  to  something  pernicious,  lost  every- 
thing she  had,  and  finally  sold  the  precious 

148 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

relic  to  a  Mrs.  Meiswinkle,  of  Tuckahoe, 
who  gave  it  a  conspicuous  place  in  her  ba- 
ronial hall." 

"Which  promptly  burnt  down  without 
insurance,'*  Dunbarton  supplemented  at  a 
venture. 

"As  it  happens,  it  didn't,"  Morewood 
answered  with  spirit.  "  But  from  that  day 
misfortune  following  misfortune  fell  upon 
the  family — troubles,  disappointments, 
losses.  I  have  all  the  details,  if  you  care  to 
hear  them." 

Dunbarton  made  a  sweeping  gesture  of 
negation,  and  his  friend  resumed:  "It  so 
happened  that  this  Mrs.  Meiswinkle,  who 
was  something  of  an  amateur  in  occultism, 
received  one  day  a  visit  from  a  noted  adept 
in  theosophy.  This  gentleman,  who  had 
newly  come  from  Thibet  and  was  in  conse- 
quence highly  sensitive,  had  scarcely  set 
foot  in  the  house  when  he  announced  the 
presence  of  a  sinister  influence.  '  There  is 
something  here,'  he  cried,  'that  simply  ra- 
diates misfortune.' " 

149 


ON    lTHE    lightship 

"  Extraordinary  acumen ! "  Dunbarton 
murmured,  having  got  the  better  of  the 
yawn. 

"Of  course,"  Morewood  proceeded,  "it 
did  not  take  an  expert  long  to  identify  the 
mummy-case,  and  of  course  a  weight  of 
evidence  to  support  the  adept's  assertion 
was  not  long  in  accumulating.  All  the  mis- 
fortunes which  had  befallen  its  recent 
owners  were  quickly  traced  in  some  direct 
way  to  the  possession  of  the  mysterious 
coffin,  and  in  the  end  Mrs.  Meiswinkle 
needed  no  great  persuasion  to  rid  herself  of 
the  thing  forever." 

How?"  Dunbarton  asked. 
She  made  a  present  of  it  to  the  city  of 
New  York." 

"Noble  woman!"  cried  the  painter. 
"  That  simple  act  of  patriotism  may  ac- 
count for  much! " 

It  was  a  frivolous  remark,  but  more  than 
once  Morewood  had  noticed  that  his  com- 
panion glanced  over  his  shoulder  when  a 
breeze  from  the  open  windows  stirred  some 

150 


« 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 


bit  of  drapery,  although  the  studio  was  still 
well  lighted  by  a  golden  sunset.  The  story- 
teller's manner  would  have  made  a  stoic 
nervous.  His  muscles  twitched,  his  eyes 
had  brightened,  and  his  bearing  was  that  of 
one  determined  to  throw  off  the  burden  of 
a  mighty  secret. 

"Dunbarton,"  he  said  solemnly,  "that 
mummy-case  stands  at  this  moment  in  the 
uptown  corner  of  the  first  Egyptian  room, 
numbered  22,542  in  the  catalogue,  which 
reads,  *  Lid  of  Egyptian  coffin,  unearthed 
at  Thebes,'  and  the  name  of  the  donor; 
nothing  more.  No  word  to  tell  that  this 
poor  shell  of  papier-mache  once  contained 
the  mortal  body  of  a  priestess  of  Amen  Ra ; 
no  hint  of  her  surpassing  loveliness  except 
the  lineaments  you  painters  sneer  at,  and 
the  ill-drawn  hands  crossed  on  her  breast. 
She  is  gone;  she  is  forgotten — she  that  was 
the  most  beautiful  of  Nature's  works ! " 

"  Frank,"  said  Dunbarton,  "  has  this 
story  of  yours  anything  to  do  with  your 
Kodak  film?" 

151 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP. 

"Yes,  everything!"  Morewood  declared, 
speaking  rapidly.  "  Listen.  To-day  I 
smuggled  my  camera  into  the  Museum,  and 
stood  before  the  mummy-case  undetected. 
But  scarcely  had  I  pressed  the  button  when 
I  was  arrested  by  an  official,  who  confis- 
cated the  machine  and  took  it  to  the  parcel 
room.  I  lost  no  time  in  finding  the  Direc- 
tor, gave  my  name  and  yours  for  surety 
for  my  respectability,  and,  after  some  de- 
lay and  red  tape,  got  back  my  prop- 
erty." 

"  You  were  lucky,"  the  other  commented 
coolly.  "  The  rules  are  very  strict.  Well? 
Is  that  the  end?" 

"No!"  exclaimed  Morewood,  "only  the 
beginning,  as  I  firmly  believe.  I  am  now 
about  to  tell  you  of  an  extraordinary  fact, 
which  I  have  so  far  purposely  kept  back." 
Dunbarton  sighed. 

"  I  am  going  to  startle  you,"  went  on 
Morewood.  "  While  the  casket  was  still  in 
the  possession  of  Mrs.  Meiswinkle,  she,  act- 
ing under  the  theosophist's  direction,  sent 

152 


ON    tTHE    LIGHTSHIP 

for  an  expert  and  had  a  photograph  taken 
of  the  lid,  with  every  possible  safeguard 
against  deception  or  mistake." 

He  spoke  with  tremulous  deliberation; 
now  he  rose  to  his  feet,  and  his  eyes,  fixed 
upon  the  wall  above  his  listener's  head, 
seemed  to  gaze  beyond  its  limits. 

"  G^eorge,  I  should  not  tell  you  this,  had 
I  not  the  proof  of  its  truth  which  even  a 
scoffer  like  yourself  can  hardly  question. 
tWhen  the  plate  was  developed  it  was  not 
the  painted  features  of  the  mummy-case 
that  looked  from  the  negative,  but — the 
face  of  a  living  woman!  The  face  of  the 
priestess  of  Amen  Ra,  unchanged  through 
three  thousand  years,  and  alive!  '* 

"That  must  have  jarred  them!"  Dun- 
barton  commented  irreverently.  "  It  was  go- 
ing it  pretty  strong,  even  for  Thibet."  But 
his  cigarette  dropped  to  the  floor  unheeded. 

"And  mark  me,  George,"  Morewood 
said,  very  gravely,  "it  was  the  same  face, 
I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt,  that  you  and 
I  beheld  to-day  appear  before  us,  the  same 

153 


ON  lThe  lightship 

strange,  wonderfully  beautiful  face  that  I 
hold  now  in  my  hand." 

"  By  Jove!  "  ejaculated  Dunbarton,  alive 
at  once  to  the  arcane  significance  of  the 
statement.  "But  you  can't  really  be- 
lieve  " 

"  I  believe  nothing  that  I  have  not  seen," 
asseverated  More  wood.  "  Nothing  that  you 
have  not  seen  yourself.  I,  too,  was  incred- 
ulous at  first;  I  laughed  at  the  story  of  the 
photograph  as  the  figment  of  a  disordered 
brain ;  but  it  took  possession  of  me,  haunted 
me  night  and  day,  until  I  determined  to 
prove  its  wild  impossibility  to  myself.  I 
bought  a  camera,  took  it  to  the  Museum, 
as  I  have  told  you,  and  came  directly  here 
with  the  result.  You  yourself  developed  the 
film;  you  saw  the  face  appear;  if  you  can 
suggest  any  other  explanation  of  the  mys- 
tery, in  Heaven's  name  let  us  discuss  it 
reasonably." 

"Let  me  look  at  the  glass  film  again," 
Dunbarton  suggested,  below  his  breath.  He 
picked  up   the   smoldering  cigarette    and, 

154 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

coming  to  his  friend's  side,  looked  long  and 
gravely  at  the  glass  film.  Both  men  were 
silent  for  a  time,  so  silent  that  they  could 
hear  their  own  hearts  beating. 

"  She  is  indeed  beautiful,"  said  the 
painter,  finally.  "  To  our  eyes  she  seems 
about  twenty  years  old,  though  Eastern 
women  reach  perfection  early.  That  dia- 
dem upon  her  brow  is,  I  think,  the  two- 
horned  crown  of  Isis.  The  drapery  falling 
down  on  either  side  is  certainly  Egyptian 
and  probably  of  a  period  antedating  the 
Pharaohs,  but  the  type  of  feature  is  scarcely 
Oriental." 

"  Yet  Cleopatra  was  a  blonde,"  More- 
wood  suggested. 

"  True,"  assented  the  other,  "  and  pos- 
sibly the  race  three  thousand  years  ago  dif- 
fered materially  from  the  degenerate 
Sphinx-like  personalities  of  the  hiero- 
glyphics. We  must  get  Biggins  of  the 
Smithsonian  to  give  us  his  opinion." 

"  Never!  "  cried  Morewood,  thrusting  the 
negative  in  his  breast. 

155 


ON    (THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"  But  in  the  interest  of  science "  pro- 
tested Dunbarton. 

"Science?"  Morewood  returned  scorn- 
fully; "what  has  science  to  do  with  this? 
What  right  have  I  to  betray  a  lady's  con- 
fidence? " 

Dunbarton  made  a  sign  of  impatience. 
"Your  lady  has  been  dead  a  matter  of 
three  thousand  years  or  more,"  he  re- 
marked. 

"That's  not  true!"  the  other  contra- 
dicted, warmly.  "  I  tell  you,  man,  that 
woman  is  alive  to-day.  Don't  ask  me  to 
explain  the  unexplainable.  I  simply  know 
that  she  lives,  as  young  and  innocent  as 
every  feature  of  her  face  proclaims  her. 
For  years,  for  centuries,  perhaps,  she  has 
been  trying  to  make  herself  known  to  the 
stupid  brutes  who  have  been  incapable  of 
comprehending.  But  now,  thank  heaven, 
she  has  selected  me  to  do  her  will — what- 
ever it  may  be — and  I  shall  consecrate  my 
life  to  her!" 

He  grew  very  pale  as  he  spoke,  but  there 
was  a  rapt  joy  in  his  face. 

156 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"  See  here,  old  man,"  Dunbarton  remon- 
strated kindly,  with  a  hand  on  his  shoulder, 
"  you're  rather  overwrought  just  now,  and 
I  don't  blame  you.  But  take  a  friend's  ad- 
vice, and  don't  get  spoony  on  a  girl  so  very 
much  older  than  yourself.  It  never  turns 
out  well." 

"That's  my  affair!'*  Morewood  said, 
doggedly. 

"Of  course,  of  course!"  Dunbarton  as- 
sented. "  She's  awfully  pretty,  I  admit,  and 
no  doubt  well  connected;  but,  even  if  we 
overlook  her  playful  little  way  of  killing 
people,  think  of  the  difficulties  about  meet- 
ing, and  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  I'm  willing  to  leave  it  all  to  her,"  More- 
wood  said.  "  A  priestess  of  Amen  Ra  must 
have  learned  by  this  time  every  mystery  of 
life  and  death,  and  I  am  confident  that  in 
the  proper  time  and  place  I  shall  meet  her 
face  to  face." 

"  Old  chap,"  Dunbarton  pronounced  with 
conviction,  "  what  you  need  is  a  good  night's 
rest." 

But  Morewood  did  not  reply  to  this,  for 

157 


ON  lTjHE  lightship 

the  gentle  swaying  of  an  Eastern  curtain 
just  then  caught  his  eye.  It  hung  before 
the  open  door  of  the  studio,  and  the  move- 
ment might  have  come  from  some  breath  of 
air.  But  immediately  it  occurred  again, 
and  this  time  accompanied  by  the  vision  of 
a  human  hand,  clearly  in  search  of  some- 
thing on  which  to  rap. 

"  There's  someone  there,"  said  the 
painter,  whose  eyes  had  followed  the  other's, 
and  he  spoke  lower:  "Possibly  a  model  in 
search  of  work."  Then  he  raised  his  voice 
in  an  encouraging  "Come  in!" — the  tone 
that  painters  use  to  models  who  are  often 
pretty  and  sometimes  timid. 

Morewood  paid  no  attention;  he  stood 
transfixed,  watching  the  swaying  curtain. 
His  finger  tips  tingled  with  a  strange  elec- 
tric current  and  his  pulses  beat  with  an  un- 
reasoning hope.  Then  Dunbarton  said,  a 
little  louder: 

"  Come  in;  please  come  in." 

"I  think  the  curtain  must  be  caught," 
replied   a   low,    melodious    voice   without. 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

Dunbarton  took  three  strides  across  the 
room,  seized  the  drapery,  and,  with  a 
single  movement  of  his  arm,  swept  it  aside. 

"Oh!"  he  cried,  starting  back,  while 
Morewood  clutched  the  table  for  support. 
Then,  instantly  recovering  themselves, 
both  men  bowed  as  in  the  presence  of  a 
queen.    And  well  they  might. 

Against  the  background  of  green  velvet 
curtain  with  its  embroidery  of  dull  gold, 
there  stood  a  lady  all  in  poppy  red, 
crowned  with  a  headdress  seemingly  of  the 
flowers  themselves.  It  was  not  the  dress  of 
any  period  of  time,  for  since  the  beginning 
of  time  flowers  have  grown  for  women  to 
wear,  and  the  two  onlookers,  being  mascu- 
line, knew  only  that  she  wore  them,  and 
cared  not  whether  they  had  bloomed  in  Eden 
or  the  Rue  de  la  Paix.  Time  was  for  the  mo- 
ment eliminated,  disregarded:  the  centuries 
rolled  away  like  dewdrops  from  a  rose,  for, 
by  the  grace  of  Isis  and  Osiris,  were  they 
not  bowing  before  the  peerless  priestess  of 
the  rites  of  Amen  Ra?    It  was  she  and  none 

159 


ON  lThe  lightship 

other — the  mistress  of  the  mummy-case,  the 
mystery  of  the  Kodak  film;  the  lady  of 
Thebes  three  thousand  years  ago. 

More  wood  passed  his  hand  across  his 
brow  and  caught  his  breath;  Dunbarton 
was  the  first  to  recover  the  power  of 
speech. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  shook  a 
little,  "  you  do  me  far  too  great  an  honor. 
What  is  your  will?  You  have  but  to  com- 
mand me." 

"  I  venture  to  assert  a  prior  claim  to  do 
your  bidding,"  put  in  Morewood,  coming 
forward  quickly. 

The  priestess  of  Amen  Ra  tried  to  con- 
trol a  little  laugh,  and  failed  bewitchingly. 
"  I  am  looking  for  a  Mr.  Dunbarton,"  she 
explained. 

The  painter  drew  himself  erect  and 
bowed  with  dignity.  *'  I  have  the  good  for- 
tune to  bear  that  name,"  he  said,  taking  a 
sidewise  step  which  left  his  friend  a  trifle  in 
the  background. 

"Oh,  I    am  so  glad!"  cried  the  lady. 

160 


ox    iTHE    LIGHTSHIP 

**  Then  perhaps  you  can  tell  me  where  to 
find  a  Mr.  Morewood?" 

"Your  humble  and  devoted  servant!" 
the  other  man  pronounced  himself,  execu- 
ting a  maneuver  which  totally  eclipsed 
Dunbarton. 

"  Really?  "  asked  the  lady,  her  face  radi- 
ant with  pleasure.    "  How  very  fortunate!  " 

At  this  Morewood  fairly  beamed  w^ith 
satisfaction,  but  she  went  on  rapidly,  in  a 
silvery  ripple  of  feminine  narrative: 

"  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Morewood,  that  you 
have  something"  of  mine  and  I  have  some- 
thing of  yours?  It  was  not  my  fault  and 
it  wasn't  yours,  either;  it  was  the  stupid 
person  in  the  parcel  room  of  the  Museum. 
Of  course  two  Kodaks  are  exactly  alike, 
if  one  of  them  hasn't  got  a  name  scratched 
on  the  bottom  with  a  pin;  but  I  don't  sup- 
pose he  ever  thought  of  looking,  so  he  gave 
you  mine  and  me  yours,  and  I  should  never 
have  found  out  who  you  were  if  you  hadn't 
been  arrested.  Of  course  it  wouldn't  have 
made  very  much  difference,  after  all,  if 

a6% 


ON    .THE    LIGHTSHIP 

my  Cousin  Jack  hadn't  snapped  me  in  a 
most  ridiculous  Egyptian  fancy  dress." 

Dunbarton  gave  a  groan  as  of  agony 
suppressed,  and  Morewood's  face  might 
have  been  in  color  a  fragment  of  the  sacer- 
dotal robe  of  Ra. 

"Oh!"  moaned  the  painter,  "if  I  could 
only  howl!" 

"Don't  mind  him,  please!"  the  other 
man  pleaded.  "  You  see,  I,  too,  had  used 
a  film,  and  we  were  rather  interested  in 
seeing  how  it  came  out." 

"Oh,  but  yours  came  out  beautifully!" 
she  reassured  him.  "  My  Cousin  Jack  de- 
veloped it  after  lunch.  That's  the  way  we 
discovered  the  mistake,  and  here  it  is.  We 
made  up  our  minds  that  you  must  be  at 
least  seventy-five  years  old  to  want  to  pho- 
tograph a  hideous  mummy-case." 

It  was  then  that  Dunbarton  mastered 
himself  and  became  once  more  conscious  of 
the  duties  of  hospitality. 

"A  thousand  pardons!"   he   protested, 

"  for  not  offering  you  a  seat.     This  is  a 

162 


ON    IHE    LIGHTSHIE 

painter's  workshop,  as  you  see,  and  there- 
fore public  property  in  a  way.  Might  I 
suggest  a  cup  of  tea?  It  won't  take  me  a 
minute  to  telephone  for  a  chaperon." 

The  priestess  was  graciously  pleased  to 
laugh. 

"  I  should  like  tea,"  she  said,  with  an  ap- 
proving glance  about  the  room,  flooded  with 
the  last  of  a  long  sunset ;  "  but,  if  you  don't 
mind,  I  detest  chaperons.  You  see,  I'm 
from  Oklahoma." 

There  was  an  instant's  Hesitation,  then: 

"  My  friend,  Mr.  Morewood,"  remarked 
the  painter,  "  has  just  been  telling  me  the 
strangest  story  in  the  world.  Perhaps  you 
can  induce  him  to  repeat  it  for  you." 

He  laughed  a  mocking  laugh  and  turned 
to  busy  himself  with  the  silver  tea-service 
standing  on  an  Adams  table,  while  More- 
wood  drew  forward  a  low  chair  for  the 
lady. 

"  Is  your  story  romantic? "  she  asked,  as 
she  settled  her  poppy-colored  ruffles;  *'has 
it  a  heroine  ? " 

16S 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed,"  he  answered,  by  no 
means  including  Dunbarton  in  the  confi- 
dence. "No  less  a  personage  than  the 
priestess  of  Amen  Ra." 

She  looked  at  him  suspiciously,  while  the 
veriest  suggestion  of  a  blush  suffused  her 
cheek. 

"  Is  there  anything  about  photograplis 
in  it?"  she  demanded,  regarding  him  defi- 
antly. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "there  is;  a  lot!" 

"  Then  I  don't  care  to  hear  it,  for  it's 
certain  to  be  stupid,"  she  protested,  pout- 
ing. 

"  It  IS,"  he  told  her,  frankly;  "  and  I  shall 
not  inflict  it  on  you  now.  But  some  day, 
when  we  know  each  other  better." 

"  We  start  for  Boston  to-morrow  morn- 
ing early,"  she  interrupted;  "and  from 
there  we  go  to  Bar  Harbor  for  mamma's 
hay  fever.  We're  staying  at  the  Wal- 
dorf." 

"  Then  I  shall  return  the  camera  this 
evening,"  said  Morewood. 

164 


ON    iTHE    LIGHTSHIP 

"If  you  do,"  she  said,  "my  Cousin  Jack 
will  be  very  glad  to  talk  photographs  with 
you." 

"How  old  is  your  Cousin  Jack? "  More- 
wood  demanded. 

"  Twelve,"  replied  the  lady,  with  just  the 
shadow  of  a  smile. 


165 


THE  GIRL  FROM   MERCURY 

AN  INTERPLANETARY  LOVE  STORY 

Being  the  interpretation  of  certain  phonic  vibragraphs 
recorded  by  the  Long's  Peak  Wireless  Installation,  now  for 
the  first  time  made  public  through  the  courtesy  of  Pro- 
fessor Caducious,  Ph.  D.,  sometime  seceretary  of  the 
Boulder  branch  of  the  association  for  the  advancement  of 
interplanetary   communication. 

It  is  evident  that  the  following  logograms  form  part  of 
a  correspondence  between  a  young  lady,  formerly  of  Mer- 
cury, and  her  confidential  friend  still  resident  upon  the 
inferior  planet.  The  translator  has  thought  it  best  to 
preserve  as  far  as  possible  the  spirit  of  the  original  by  the 
employment  of  mundane  colloquialisms;  the  result,  in  spite 
of  many  regrettable  trivialities  will,  it  is  believed,  be  of 
interest  to  students  of  Cosmic  Sociology. 


THE   GIRL   FROM   MERCURY 

THE   FIRST  RECORD 

YES,  dear,  it's  me.  I'm  down 
here  on  the  Earth,  and  in  our 
Settlement  House,  safe  and 
sound.  I  meant  to  have  called 
you  up  before,  but  really  this  is  the  first 
moment  I  have  had  to  myself  all  day. — 
Yes,  of  course,  I  said  "  all  day."  You 
know  very  well  they  have  days  and  nights 
here,  because  this  restless  little  planet  spins, 
or  something  of  the  sort. — I  haven't  the 
least  idea  why  it  does  so,  and  I  don't  care. 
— I  did  not  come  here  to  make  intelligent 
observations  like  a  dowdy  "  Seeing  Saturn  " 
tourist.  So  don't  be  Uranian.  Try  to  ex- 
ercise intuitive  perception  if  I  say  anything 
you  can't  understand. — What  is  that? — 
Please  concentrate  a  little  harder. — Oh! 
Yes,  I  have  seen  a  lot  of  human  beings  al- 

169 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

ready,  and  would  you  believe  it?  some  of 
them  seem  almost  possible — especially  one, 
— But  I  will  come  to  that  one  later.  I've 
got  so  much  to  tell  you  all  at  once  I  scarcely 
know  where  to  begin. — Yes,  dear,  the  One 
happens  to  be  a  man.  You  would  not  have 
me  discriminate,  would  you,  when  our  ob- 
ject is  to  bring  whatever  happiness  we  can 
to  those  less  fortunate  than  ourselves?  You 
know  success  in  slumming  depends  first  of 
all  upon  getting  yourself  admired,  for  then 
the  others  will  want  to  be  like  you,  and  once 
thoroughly  dissatisfied  with  themselves  they 
are  almost  certain  to  reform.  Of  course  I 
am  only  a  visitor  here,  and  shall  not  stay 
long  enough  to  take  up  serious  work,  so 
Ooma  says  I  may  as  well  proceed  along  the 
line  of  least  resistance. — If  you  remember 
Ooma's  enthusiasm  when  she  ran  the  Board 
of  Missions  to  Inferior  Planets,  you  can 
fancy  her  now  that  she  has  an  opportunity 
to  carry  out  all  her  theories.  Oh,  she's 
srreat ! 

My  transmigration  was  disappointing  as 

170 


to 


ON    THE    LIGHT  SH  IE 

an  experience.  It  was  nothing  more  tKan 
going  to  sleep  and  dreaming  about  circles 
— orange  circles,  yellow  circles,  with  a  thou- 
sand others  of  graduated  shades  between, 
and  so  on  through  the  spectrum  till  you 
pass  absolute  green  and  get  a  tone  or  two 
toward  blue  and  strike  the  Earth  color-note. 
Then  with  me  everything  got  jumbled  to- 
gether and  seemed  about  to  take  new 
shapes,  and  I  woke  up  in  the  most  common- 
place manner  and  opened  my  eyes  to  find 
myself  externalized  in  our  Earth  Settle- 
ment House  with  Ooma  laughing  at  me, 

"Don't  stir!"  she  cried.  "Don't  lift  a 
finger  till  we  are  sure  your  specific  gravity 
is  all  right."  And  then  she  pinched  me  to 
see  if  I  was  dense  enough,  because  the  at- 
mosphere is  heavier  or  lighter  or  something 
here  than  with  us. 

I  reminded  her  that  matter  everywhere 
must  maintain  an  absolute  equilibrium  with! 
its  environment,  but  she  protested. 

"  That's  well  enough  in  theory ;  you  must 
understand  that  the  Earth  is  awfully  out 

171 


ON    fCHE    LIGHTSHIP 

of  tune  at  present,  and  sometimes  it  re- 
quires time  to  readjust  ourselves  to  its  con- 
ditions." 

— I  did  not  say  so,  but  I  fancy  Ooma 
may  have  been  undergoing  readjustment. 
— My  dear,  she  has  grown  as  pudgy  as  a 
Jupitan,  and  her  clothes — but  then  she  al- 
ways did  look  more  like  a  spiral  nebula  than 
anything  else. 

{The  record  here  becomes  unintelligible  by 
reason  of  the  passage  of  a  thunderstorm 
above  the  summit  of  Long's  Peak,) 

— There  must  be  star-dust  in  the  ether. 
— I  never  had  to  concentrate  so  hard  be- 
fore.— That's  all  about  the  Settlement 
House,  and  don't  accuse  me  again  of  slight- 
ing details.  I'm  sure  you  know  the  place 
now  as  well  as  Ooma  herself,  so  I  can  go 
on  to  tell  what  little  I  have  learned  about 
human  beings. 

It  seems  I  am  never  to  admit  that  I  was 
not  born  on  Earth,  for,  like  all  provincials, 
the  humans  pride  themselves  on  disbelieving 
everything   beyond  their   own    experience, 

172 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

and  if  they  understood  they  would  be  cer- 
tain to  resent  intrusions  from  another 
planet.  I'm  sure  I  don't  blame  them  alto- 
gether when  I  recall  those  patronizing  Ju- 
pitans. — And  I'm  told  they  are  awfully 
jealous  and  distrustful  even  of  one  another, 
herding  together  for  protection  and  gov- 
erned by  so  many  funny  little  tribal  codes 
that  what  is  right  on  one  side  of  an  imagin- 
ary boundary  may  be  wrong  on  the  other. 
— Ooma  considers  this  survival  of  the 
group-soul  most  interesting,  and  intends  to 
make  it  the  subject  of  a  paper.  I  mention 
it  only  to  explain  why  we  call  our  Settle- 
ment a  Boar  ding-House.  A  Boarding- 
House,  you  must  know,  is  fundamentally  a 
hunting  pack  which  one  can  affiliate  with  or 
separate  from  at  will. — Rather  a  pale  yel- 
low idea,  isn't  it?  Ooma  thinks  it  necessary 
to  conform  to  it  in  order  to  be  considered 
respectable,  which  is  the  one  thing  on  Earth 
most  desired. — What,  dear? — Oh,  I  don't 
know  what  it  means  to  be  respectable  any 
more    than    you    do. — One    thing    more. 

17s 


ON    iTjHE    LIGHTSHIE 

You'll  have  to  draw  on  your  imagination! 
Ooma  is  called  here  Mrs.  Bloomer. — Her 
own  name  was  just  a  little  too  unearthly. 
Mrs.  signifies  that  a  woman  is  married. — 
What? — Oh,  no,  no,  no,  nothing  of  the  sort. 
— But  I  shall  have  to  leave  that  for  another 
time.  I'm  not  at  all  sure  how  it  is  my- 
self. 

By  the  way,  if  any  one  should  ask  you 
where  I  am,  just  say  IVe  left  the  planet, 
and  you  don't  know  when  I  shall  be  back. 
— Yes,  you  know  who  I  mean. — And,  dear, 
perhaps  you  might  drop  a  hint  that  I  de- 
test all  foreigners,  especially  Jupitans. — 
Please  don't  laugh  so  hard;  you'll  get  the 
atmospheric  molecules  all  woozy. — Indeed, 
there's  not  the  slightest  danger  here.  Just 
fancy,  if  you  please,  beings  who  don't  know 
when  they  are  hungry  without  consulting 
a  wretched  little  mechanism,  and  who  meas- 
ure their  radius  of  conception  bj^  the  length 
of  their  own  feet. — Of  course  I  shall  be 
on  hand  for  the  Solstice!  I  wouldn't  miss 
that  for  an  asteroid! — Oh,    did    I    really 

[I74i 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

promise  that?    Well,  I'll  tell  you  about  him 
another  time. 


THE     SECOND     RECORD — THOUGH     PROBABLY 
THIRD   COMMUNICATIOlSr 

— I  really  must  not  waste  so  much  gray 
matter,  dear,  over  unimportant  details.  But 
I  simply  had  to  tell  you  all  about  my 
struggles  with  the  clothes.  When  Ooma 
came  back,  just  as  I  had  mastered  them 
with  the  aid  of  her  diagrams,  the  dear  thing 
was  so  much  pleased  she  actually  hugged 
me,  and  I  must  confess  the  effect  made  me 
forget  my  discomfort.  Really,  an  Earth 
girl  is  not  so  much  to  be  pitied  if  she  has 
becoming  dresses  to  wear.  As  you  may  be 
sure  I  was  anxious  to  compare  myself  with 
others,  I  was  glad  enough  to  hear  Ooma 
suggest  going  out. 

"  Come  on,"  she  said,  executively,  "  I 
have  only  a  half -hour  to  devote  to  your  first 
walk.  Keep  close  beside  me,  and  remem- 
ber on  no  account  to  either  dance  or  sing." 

175 


ON    PCHE    LIGHTSHIP. 

"  But  if  I  see  others  dancing  may  I  not 
join  them? "  I  inquired. 

"You  won't  see  anybody  dancing  on 
Broadway,"  she  replied,  a  trifle  snubbily, 
but  I  resolved  to  escape  from  her  as  soon 
as  possible  and  find  out  for  myself. 

I  shall  never  forget  my  shock  on  discov- 
ering the  sky  blue  instead  of  the  color  it 
should  be,  but  soon  my  eyes  became  accus- 
tomed to  the  change.  In  fact,  I  have  not 
since  that  first  moment  been  able  to  conceive 
of  the  sky  as  anything  but  blue.  And  the 
city? — Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear,  I  never  ex- 
pected to  encounter  anything  so  much  out 
of  key  with  the  essential  euphonies.  Of 
course  I  have  not  traveled  very  much,  but 
I  should  say  there  is  nothing  in  the  universe 
like  a  street  they  call  Broadway — unless  it 
be  upon  the  lesser  satellite  of  Mars,  where 
the  poor  people  are  so  awfully  cramped  for 
space.  When  I  suggested  this  to  Ooma 
she  laughed  and  called  me  clever,  for  it 
seems  there  is  a  tradition  that  a  mob  of 
meddling  Martians  once  stopped  on  Earth 

176 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

long  enough  to  give  the  foohsh  humans 
false  ideas  about  architecture  and  many 
other  matters.  But  I  soon  forgot  every- 
thing in  my  interest  in  the  people.  Such  a 
poor  puzzle-headed  lot  they  are.  One's 
heart  goes  out  to  them  at  once  as  they  push 
and  jostle  one  another  this  way  and  that, 
with  no  conceivable  object  other  than  to  get 
anywhere  but  where  they  are  in  the  shortest 
time  possible.  One  longs  to  help  them;  to 
call  a  halt  upon  their  senseless  struggles ;  to 
reason  with  them  and  explain  how  all  the 
psychic  force  they  waste  might,  if  exerted 
in  constructive  thought,  bring  everything 
they  wish  to  pass.  Mrs.  Bloomer  assures 
me  they  only  ridicule  those  who  venture  to 
interfere,  and  it  will  take  at  least  a  Saturn 
century  to  so  much  as  start  them  in  the 
right  direction.  Our  settlement  is  their  only 
hope,  she  says,  and  even  we  can  help  them 
only  indirectly. 

Not  long  ago,  it  appears,  they  had  to 
choose  a  King  or  Mayor,  or  whatever  the 
creature  is  called  who  executes  their  silly 

177 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

laws,  and  our  people  so  manipulated  the 
election  that  the  choice  fell  on  one  of  us. 

I  thought  this  a  really  good  idea,  and 
supposed,  of  course,  we  must  at  once  have 
set  about  demonstrating  how  a  planet 
should  be  managed.  But  no!  that  was  not 
our  system,  if  you  please.  Instead  of  mak- 
ing proper  laws  our  agent  misbehaved 
himself  in  every  way  the  committee  could 
suggest,  until  at  last  the  humans  rose 
against  him  and  put  one  of  themselves  in 
his  place,  and  after  that  things  went  just 
a  little  better  than  before.  This  is  the  only 
way  in  which  they  can  be  taught.  But, 
dear  me,  isn't  it  tedious? 

Of  course,  I  soon  grew  anxious  for  an 
exchange  of  thought  with  almost  anyone, 
but  it  was  a  long  while  before  I  discovered 
a  single  person  who  was  not  in  a  violent 
hurry.  At  last,  however,  we  came  upon  a 
human  drawn  apart  a  little  from  the  throng, 
who  stood  with  folded  arms,  engaged  ap- 
parently in  lofty  meditation.  His  counte- 
nance was  amiable,  although  a  little  red. 

Saying  nothing  to  Ooma  of  my  purpose, 

178 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

I  slipped  away  from  her,  and  looking  up 
into  the  creature's  eyes  inquired  mentally 
the  subject  of  his  thoughts;  also,  how  he 
came  to  be  so  inordinately  stout,  and  why 
he  wore  bright  metal  buttons  on  his  gar- 
ment. But  my  only  answer  was  a  stupid 
blink,  for  his  mentality  seemed  absolutely 
incapable  of  receiving  suggestions  not  ex- 
pressed in  sounds.  I  observed  farther  that 
his  aura  inclined  too  much  toward  violet 
for  perfect  equipoise. 

"  G'wan  out  of  this,  and  quit  yer  fool- 
in',"  he  remarked,  missing  my  meaning  al- 
together. 

Of  course  I  spoke  then,  using  the  human 
speech  quite  glibly  for  a  first  attempt,  and 
hastened  to  assure  him  that  though  I  had 
no  idea  of  fooling,  I  should  not  go  on  until 
my  curiosity  had  been  satisfied.  But  just 
then  Ooma  found  me. 

"  My  friend  is  a  stranger,"  she  explained 
to  the  brass-buttoned  man. 

"  Then  why  don't  you  put  a  string  to 
her?"  he  asked. 

I  learned  later  that  I  had  been  address- 

179 


ON    XHE    LIGHTSHIP 

ing  one  of  the  public  jesters  employed  by 
the  community  to  keep  Broadway  from  be- 
coming intolerably  dull. 

"  But  you  must  not  speak  to  people  in 
the  street,"  said  Ooma,  "  not  even  to  police- 
men." 

"  Then  how  am  I  to  brighten  others' 
lives? "  I  asked,  more  than  a  little  disap- 
pointed, for  several  humans  hurrying  past 
had  turned  upon  me  looks  indicating  moods 
receptive  of  all  the  brightening  I  could 
give. 

I  might  have  amused  myself  indefinitely, 
studying  the  rapid  succession  of  varying 
faces,  had  not  Bloomer  cautioned  me  not 
to  stare.  She  said  people  would  think  me 
from  the  country,  which  is  considered  dis- 
creditable, and  as  this  reminded  me  that  I 
had  as  yet  seen  nothing  growing,  I  asked 
to  be  shown  the  gardens  and  groves. 

"  There  is  one,"  she  said,  indicating  an 
open  space  not  far  away  where  sure  enough 
there  stood  some  wretched  looking  trees 
which  I  had  not  recognized  before,  forget- 

180 


ON    THE    LIGHTS  HIE 

ting  that,  of  course,  leaves  here  must  be 
green.  I  saw  no  flowers  growing,  but  pres- 
ently we  came  upon  some  in  a  sort  of  crys- 
tal bower  guarded  by  a  powerful  black  per- 
son. I  wanted  so  to  ask  him  how  he  came 
to  be  black,  but  the  memory  of  my  last  at- 
tempt at  information  deterred  me.  In- 
stead, I  inquired  if  I  might  have  some  roses. 

*'  Walk  in,  JNIiss,"  he  replied  most  civilly, 
and  in  I  walked  through  the  door,  past  the 
sweetest  little  embryonic,  who  wore  the  ves- 
ture of  a  young  policeman. 

"  Bo}^"  I  said,  "  have  you  begun  to 
realize  your  soul?" 

"  Nope,"  he  replied.  "  I  ain't  in  frac- 
tions yet." 

— Some  stage  of  earthly  progress,  I  sup- 
pose, though  I  did  not  like  a  certain  move- 
ment of  his  eyelid,  and  one  never  can  tell, 
you  know,  how  hard  embryonics  are  really 
striving.  So  I  made  haste  to  gather  all  the 
roses  I  could  carry,  and  was  about  to  hurry 
after  Ooma,  when  a  person  barred  my  way. 

"Hold  on!"  he  cried.     "Ain't  you  for- 

181 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

getting  something?  Why  don't  you  take 
the  whole  lot?" 

"  Because  I  have  all  I  want  for  the  pres- 
ent," I  answered,  rather  frightened,  per- 
ceiving that  his  aura  had  grown  livid,  and 
I  don't  know  how  I  could  have  soothed  him 
had  not  Ooma  once  more  come  to  my  relief. 
I  could  see  that  she  was  annoyed  with  me, 
but  she  controlled  herself  and  placed  some 
token  in  the  being's  hand  which  acted  on 
his  agitation  like  a  charm. 

As  I  told  you.  Bloomer  had  given  me 
with  the  other  things,  a  crown  of  artificial 
roses  which,  now  that  I  had  real  flowers 
to  wear,  I  wanted  to  throw  away,  but  this 
she  would  not  permit,  insisting  that  such  a 
proceeding  would  make  the  humans  laugh 
at  me — though  to  look  into  their  serious 
faces  one  would  not  believe  this  possible. 
The  thoughts  of  those  about  me,  as  I  di- 
vined them,  seemed  anything  but  jocular. 
They  came  to  me  incoherent  and  inconsecu- 
tive, a  jumble  of  conditional  premises  lead- 
ing to  approximate  conclusions  expressed 

182 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIE 

in  symbols  having  no  intrinsic  meaning. — 
Of  course,  it  is  unfair  to  judge  too  soon, 
but  I  have  akeady  begun  to  doubt  the  ex- 
istence of  direct  perception  among  them. — 
What  did  you  say,  dear? — Bother  direct 
perception? — Well,  I  wonder  how  we 
should  like  to  apprehend  nothing  that  could 
not  be  put  into  words?  You,  I'm  sure, 
would  have  the  most  confused  ideas  about 
Earthly  conditions  if  you  depended  en- 
tirely upon  my  remarks. — Now  concentrate, 
and  you  shall  hear  something  really  inter- 
esting. 

— No,  not  the  One  yet. — He  comes 
later. — 

We  had  not  gone  far,  I  carrying  my 
roses,  and  Bloomer  not  too  well  pleased,  as 
I  fancied,  because  so  many  people  turned 
to  look  at  us  (Bloomer  has  retrograded 
physically  until  she  is  at  times  almost  Ura- 
nian,  probably  as  the  result  of  wearing 
black,  which  appears  to  be  the  chromatic 
equivalent  of  respectability),  when  sud- 
denly I  became  sensible  of  a  familiar  in- 

183 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIE 

fluence,  which  was  quite  startling  because 
so  unexpected.  Looking  everywhere,  I 
caught  sight  of — who  do  you  suppose?  Our 
old  friend  Tuk.— Mr.  Tuck,  T-u-c-k  here, 
if  you  please.  He  was  about  to  enter  a — 
a  means  of  transportation,  and  though  his 
back  was  towards  me,  I  recognized  that 
drab  aura  of  his  at  once,  and  projected  a 
reactionary  impulse  which  was  most  ef- 
fective. 

In  his  surprise  he  was  for  the  moment 
in  danger  of  being  trampled  upon  by  a 
rapidly  moving  animal. — Yes,  dear,  I  said 
"  animal." — I  don't  know  and  I  don't  con- 
sider it  at  all  important.  I  do  not  pre- 
tend to  be  familiar  with  mundane  zoology. 
— Tuck  declared  himself  delighted  to  see 
me,  and  so  I  believe  he  was,  thoug'h  he 
controlled  his  radiations  in  the  supercilious 
way  he  always  had.  But  upon  one  point 
he  did  not  leave  me  long  in  doubt.  Exter- 
nally, at  least,  my  Earthly  Ego  is  a — ^ 

(Note:  The  word  which  signifies  a  spe- 
cies of  peach  or  nectarine  peculiar  to  the 

184 


ON    tXHE    LIGHTSHIP 

planet  Mercury  is  doubtless  used  here  in  a 
symbolic  sense,) 

— I  caught  on  to  that  most  interesting 
fact  the  moment  his  eyes  rested  on  me. 

"By  all  that's  fair  to  look  upon!"  he 
cried,  jumping  about  in  a  manner  human 
people  think  eccentric,  "  are  you  astral  or 
actualized?" 

"  See  for  yourself,"  I  said,  holding  out 
my  hand,  which  it  took  him  rather  longer 
than  necessary  to  make  sure  of. 

"Well,  what  on  Earth  brings  you  here? 
Come  down  to  paint  another  planet  red? " 
he  rattled  on,  believing  himself  amus- 
ing. 

"  Now  haven't  I  as  much  right  to  light 
on  Earth  as  on  any  other  bit  of  cosmic 
dust?"  I  asked,  laughing  and  forgetting 
how  much  snubbing  he  requires  in  the  de- 
light of  seeing  anyone  I  knew. 

Then  he  insisted  that  I  had  a  "date" 
with  him. — A  date,  as  I  discovered  later, 
means  something  nice  to  eat — and  hinted 
very  broadly  that  Bloomer  need  not  wait  if 

185 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

she  had  more  important  matters  to  attend 
to.  I  must  confess  she  did  not  seem  at  all 
sorry  to  have  me  taken  off  her  hands,  for 
after  cautioning  me  to  beware  of  a  number 
of  things  I  did  not  so  much  as  know  by 
name,  she  shot  off  like  a  respectable  old 
aerolite  with  a  black  trail  streaming  out  be- 
hind. If  she  remains  here  much  longer  she 
will  be  coming  back  upon  a  mission  to  re- 
form us.  As  for  Tuck,  he  became  insuf- 
ferably patronizing  at  once. 

"  Well,  how  do  you  like  the  Only  Planet? 
and  how  do  you  like  the  Only  Town?  and 
how  do  you  like  the  Only  Street? "  he  be- 
gan, waving  his  hands  and  looking  about 
him  as  though  there  were  anything  here 
that  one  of  us  could  admire.  But,  of 
course,  I  refused  to  gratify  him  with  my 
crude  impressions.     I  simply  said: 

"  You  appear  very  well  pleased  with  them 
yourself." 

"  And  so  will  you  be,"  he  replied,  "  when 
you  have  realized  their  possibilities.  Re- 
mark that  elderly  entity  across  the  street. 

186 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

I  have  to  but  exert  my  will  that  he  shall 
sneeze  and  drop  his  eyeglasses,  and  behold, 
there  they  go." — Yes,  my  dear,  eyeglasses. 
They  are  worn  on  the  nose  by  people  who 
imagine  they  cannot  see  very  well. 

"I  consider  such  actions  cruel  and  un- 
kind," I  said,  at  the  same  time  willing  an 
embryonic  girl  to  pick  the  glasses  up,  and 
though  the  child  was  rather  beyond  my 
normal  circle,  I  was  delighted  to  see  her 
obey.  But  I  have  an  idea  Tuck  regretted 
an  experiment  which  taught  me  something 
I  might  not  have  found  out,  at  least  for  a 
while. 

I  had  now  been  on  Earth  several  hours, 
and  change  of  atmosphere  gives  one  a 
ravenous  appetite.  You  see,  I  had  forgot- 
ten to  ask  Ooma  how,  and  how  often,  hu- 
mans ate,  so  when  Tuck  suggested  break- 
fast as  a  form  of  entertainment  I  put  my- 
self in  sympathy  with  the  idea  at  once.  Be- 
sides, it  is  most  important  to  know  just 
where  to  find  the  things  you  want,  and  you 
may  be  sure  I  made  a  lot  of  mental  notes 

187 


ON    tXHE    LIGHTSHIP 

when  we  came,  as  presently  we  did,  to  a 
tower  called  Astoria. 

I  understand  that  the  upper  portions  of 
the  edifice  are  used  for  study  of  the  Stars, 
but  we  were  made  welcome  on  the  lower 
story  by  a  stately  being,  who  conducted  us 
to  honorable  seats  in  an  inner  court.  There 
were  small  trees  growing  here,  green,  of 
course,  but  rather  pretty  for  all  that;  the 
people,  gathered  under  their  shade  in  little 
groups,  were  much  more  cheerful  and  sus- 
taining than  any  I  had  seen  so  far,  and  an 
elemental  intelligence  detailed  to  minister 
to  our  wants  seemed  well-trained  and  docile. 

"  Here  you  have  a  glimpse  of  High 
Life,"  announced  Tuck,  when  he  had  writ- 
ten something  on  a  paper. 

"  The  Higher  Life?  "  I  inquired,  eagerly, 
and  I  did  not  like  the  flippant  tone  in  which 
he  answered: 

"  No,  not  quite — just  high  enough." 

I  was  beginning  to  be  so  bored  by  his 
conceit  and  self-complacency  that  I  cast 
my  eyes  about  and  smiled  at  several  pleas- 

188 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

ant-looking  persons,  who  returned  the  smile 
and  nodded  in  a  friendly  fashion,  till  I 
could  perceive  Tuck's  aura  bristle  and  turn 
greenish-brown. 

"  You  can't  possibly  see  anyone  you  know 
here,"  he  protested,  crossly. 

"All  the  better  reason  why  I  should 
reach  out  in  search  of  affinities,"  I  retorted. 
But  after  that,  though  I  was  careful  to 
keep  my  eyes  lowered  most  of  the  time, 
I  resolved  to  come  some  day  to  the  Astoria 
alone  and  smile  at  every  one  I  liked,  I 
don't  beUeve  I  should  ever  know  a  human 
if  Tuck  could  have  his  way. 

Presently  the  elemental  brought  us  de- 
licious things,  and  while  we  ate  them  Tuck 
talked  about  himself.  It  appears  he  has 
produced  an  opera  here  which  is  a  success. 
People  throng  to  hear  it  and  consider  him 
a  great  composer.  At  all  of  which,  you  may 
believe,  I  was  astonished — just  fancy  our 
Tuck  posing  as  a  genius! — ^but  presently 
when  he  became  elated  by  the  theme  and 
hummed  a  bar  or  two,  I  understood.    The 

189 


ox    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

wretch  had  simply  actuaUzed  a  few  essen- 
tial harmonies — and  done  it  verv  badlv.  I 
see  now  why  he  likes  so  much  being  here, 
and  miderstand  whv  his  associates  are  al- 
most  altogether  hmiian.  I  don't  remember 
ever  meeting  with  such  deceit  and  effron- 
tery before.  I  was  so  indignant  that  I 
could  feel  my  astral  fingers  tremble.  I 
could  not  bear  to  look  at  him.  and  as  bv 
that  time  I  had  eaten  all  I  could,  I  rose 
and  walked  directlv  from  the  court  without 
another  word.  I  am  sure  he  would  have 
pursued  me  had  not  the  elemental,  divining 
my  wish  to  escape,  detained  him  forcibly. 
Once  in  the  street  again,  I  immediately 
h^'pnotized  an  old  lady,  willing  her  to  go 
direct  to  Bloomer's  Boarding-House  wliile 
I  followed  behind.  It  mav  not  have  been 
convenient  for  her,  I  am  afraid,  but  I  knew 
of  no  other  way  to  get  back. — Dear  me,  the 
hght  is  growing  dim,  and  I  must  be  dress- 
ing for  the  evening.  Good-byl — By  the 
wav.  I  forgot  to  tell  von  something  else 

that  happened — remind  me  of  it  next  time! 

190 


ox    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

THE  THIED   EECOED 

— Yes,  I  remember,  and  vou  shall  hear 
all  about  it  before  I  describe  an  eveninor 
at  the  Settlement,  but  it  doesn't  amount  to 
much. — I  told  vou  how  cross  and  over- 
bearing  Tuck  was  at  the  Astoria  tower, 
and  of  the  mean  wav  in  which  he  restricted 
my  observations.  Well,  of  all  the  people 
in  the  crpove  that  dav  there  was  onlv  one 
whom  I  could  see  without  being  criticized, 
and  he  sat  all  alone  and  facing  me,  just 
beliind  Tuck's  back.  Some  green  leaves 
hung  between  us,  and  whenever  I  moved 
mv  head  to  note  what  he  was  doinpr  he 
moved  liis,  too,  to  look  at  me.  He  seemed 
so  lonelv  that  I  was  sorrv  for  him.  but  his 
atmosphere  showed  him  to  be  neither  sullen 
nor  Uranian,  and  I  could  not  help  it  if  I 
was  just  a  httle  bit  responsive.  Besides, 
Tuck,  once  on  the  subject  of  his  opera, 
grew  so  self-engrossed  and  dominant  that 
one  had  either  to  assert  one's  own  mentahtv 
or  become  subjective. 

191 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

— No,  dear,  that  is  not  the  only  reason. 
There  may  be  such  a  thing  as  an  isolated 
reason,  but  I  have  never  met  one — they  al- 
ways go  in  packs.  I  confess  to  a  feeling 
of  interest  in  the  stranger.  Nobody  can 
look  at  you  with  round  blue  eyes  for  half 
an  hour  steadily  without  exercising  some 
attraction,  either  positive  or  negative,  and 
I  felt,  too,  that  he  was  trying  to  tell  me 
something  which  would  have  been  a  great 
deal  more  interesting  than  Tuck's  opera, 
and  I  believe  had  I  remained  a  little  longer 
we  could  have  understood  each  other  be- 
tween the  trees  just  as  you  and  I  can  un- 
derstand each  other  across  the  intervals  of 
space.  But  then  it  is  so  easy  to  be  mis- 
taken.— I  had  to  pass  quite  close  to  him  in 
going  out,  and  I  am  not  sure  I  did  not  drop 
a  rose. 

— There  may  be  just  a  weenie  little  bit 
more  about  the  Astorian,  but  that  will  come 
in  its  proper  place.  Now  I  must  get  on 
to  the  evening. — It  was  not  much  of  an  oc- 
casion, merely  the  usual  gathering  of  our 

192 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

crowd,  or  rather  of  those  of  us  who  have  no 
special  assignment  for  the  time  in  the  large 
Council  Room  I  have  described  to  you. 

The  President  of  the  Board  of  Control 
at  present  is  Marlow,  Marlow  the  Great, 
as  he  is  called,  the  painter  whose  pictures 
did  so  much  to  elevate  the  Patagonians. — 
No,  dear,  I  never  heard  of  Patagonia  be- 
fore, but  I'm  almost  sure  it's  not  a  planet. 
— With  Marlow  came  a  Mrs.  Mopes,  who 
is  engaged  in  creating  schools  of  fiction  by 
writing  stories  under  different  names  and 
then  reviewing  them  in  her  own  seven  mag- 
azines. Next,  taking  the  guests  at  random, 
was  Baxter,  a  deadly  person  in  his  human 
incarnation,  whose  business  it  is  to  make 
stocks  fly  up  or  tumble  down. — I  don't 
know  what  stocks  are,  but  they  must  be 
something  very  easily  frightened. — Then 
there  was  a  Mr.  Waller,  nicknamed  the 
Reverend,  whom  the  Council  allows  to 
speak  the  truth  occasionally,  while  the  rest 
of  the  time  he  tells  people  anything  they 
want  to  hear  to  vnn  their  confidence.    And 

193 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

the  two  Miss  Dooleys,  who  sing  so  badly 
that  thousands  who  cannot  sing  at  all  leave 
off  singing  altogether  when  they  once  hear 
them.  And  Mr.  Flick,  who  misbehaves  at 
funerals  to  distract  mourners  from  their 
grief,  and  a  Mr.  O'Brien,  whose  duty  it 
is  to  fly  into  violent  passions  in  public 
places  just  to  show  how  unbecoming  tem- 
per is. 

There  were  many  others,  so  many  I  can- 
not begin  to  enumerate  them.  Some  had 
written  books  and  were  known  all  over  the 
planet,  and  some  who  were  not  known  at 
all  had  done  things  because  there  was  no- 
body else  to  do  them.  And  some  were  sing- 
ers and  some  were  actors,  and  some  were 
rich  and  some  were  poor  to  the  outside 
world,  but  in  the  Council  Room  they  met 
and  laughed  and  matched  experiences  and 
made  jokes;  from  the  one  who  had  built  a 
battleship  so  terrible  that  all  the  other  ships 
were  burnt  on  condition  that  his  should  be 
also,  to  the  ordinary  helpers  who  applaud 
stupid  plays  till  intelligent  human  beings 

194 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

become  thoroughly  disgusted  with  bad 
art. 

In  the  world,  of  course,  they  are  all  seri- 
ous enough,  and  often  know  each  other  only 
by  secret  signs,  while  every  day  and  night 
and  minute  our  poor  earth-brothers  come 
a  little  nearer  the  light — pushed  toward  it, 
pulled  toward  it,  wheedled  and  tricked  and 
bullied  and  coaxed,  and  thinking  all  the 
while  how  immensely  clever  they  are,  and 
what  a  w^onderful  progressive,  glorious  age 
they  have  brought  about  for  themselves. — 
At  all  events,  this  is  the  rather  vague  com- 
posite impression  I  have  received  of  the 
plans  and  purposes  of  the  Board  of  Di- 
rectors, and  doubtless  it  is  wrong. 

I  suppose  with  a  little  trouble  I  might 
have  recognized  nearly  everyone,  but  the 
fancy  took  me  to  suspend  intuition  just  to 
see  how  Earth  girls  feel,  and  you  know 
when  one  is  hearing  a  lot  of  pleasant  things 
one  does  not  much  care  who  happens  to  be 
saying  them. 

I  fancy  Marlow  thought  less  of  me  when 

195 


ON    iTHE    LIGHTSHIP 

I  confessed  that  I  am  here  only  for  the 
lark,  and  really  do  not  care  a  meteor 
whether  the  planet  is  ever  elevated  or  not. 
But  he  is  a  charming  old  fellow  all  the 
same,  and  the  onl}^  one  of  the  lot  who  has 
not  grown  the  least  bit  smudgy. 

Marlow  announced  that  the  evening 
would  be  spent  in  harmony  with  the  vibra- 
tions of  Orion,  and  set  us  all  at  work  to 
get  in  touch.  I  love  Orion  light  myself, 
for  none  other  suits  my  aura  quite  so  well, 
and  I  was  glad  to  find  they  had  not  taken 
up  the  Vega  fad. — The  light  here?  My 
dear,  it  is  not  even  filtered. — Some  of  us, 
no  doubt  for  want  of  practice,  were  rather 
slow  about  perfecting,  but  finally  we  all 
caught  on,  and  when  O'Brien,  no  longer  fat 
and  florid,  and  the  elder  Miss  Dooley,  no 
longer  scrawny,  moved  out  to  start  the 
dance,  there  was  only  one  who  had  not  as- 
sumed an  astral  personality.  Poor  fellow, 
though  I  pitied  him,  I  did  admire  his  spunk 
in  holding  back.  It  seems  that  as  an  editor 
he  took  to  telling  falsehoods  on  his  own  ac- 

196 


ON    EHE    LIGHTSHIP, 

count  so  often  that  the  Syndicate  is  pack- 
ing him  off  as  Special  Correspondent  to  a 
tailless  comet. 

Tuck  never  came  at  all ;  either  he  realizes 
how  honest  people  must  regard  him  and 
his  opera,  or  else  the  elementals  at  the  As- 
toria are  stiU  detaining  him. 

We  had  a  lovely  dance,  and  while  we 
rested  Marlow  called  on  some  of  us  for  spe- 
cialties. Mrs.  Mopes  did  a  paragraph  by 
a  man  named  Henry  James,  translated  into 
action,  which  seemed  quite  difficult,  and 
then  a  person  called  Parker  externalized  a 
violin  and  gave  the  Laocoon  in  terms  of 
sound.  To  me  his  rendering  of  marble  re- 
sembled terra-cotta  until  I  learned  that  the 
copy  of  the  statue  here  is  awfully  weather- 
stained.  After  this  three  pretty  girls  gave 
the  Aurora  Borealis  by  telepathic  sug- 
gestion rather  well,  and  then  I  sang 
"  Love  Lives  Everywhere " — just  plain 
song. 

— I  know  this  must  all  sound  dreadfully 
flat  to  you,  quite  like  "Pastimes  for  the 

197 


ON    iTHE    LIGHTSHIP 

Rainy  Season  in  Neptune,"  but  Bloomer 
says  she  doesn't  know  what  would  happen 
if  we  should  ever  give  a  really  characteristic 
jolly  party. 

We  wound  up  with  an  Earth  dance  called 
the  Virginia  Reel,  the  quickest  means  you 
ever  saw  for  descending  to  a  lower  psychic 
plane.  That's  all  I  have  to  tell,  and  quite 
enough,  I'm  sure  you'll  think. — What? 
The  Astorian?  I  have  not  seen  him  since. 
— But  there  is  a  little  more,  a  very  little, 
if  you  are  not  tired. — This  morning  I  re- 
ceived a  gift  of  roses,  just  like  the  one  I 
dropped  yesterday,  brought  me  by  the  same 
small  embryonic  I  had  seen  in  the  flower 
shop.  I  asked  the  child  in  whose  intelli- 
gence the  impulse  had  originated,  and  he 
replied : 

"  A  blue-eyed  feller  with  a  mustache,  but 
he  gave  me  a  plunk  not  to  tell." 

I  understood  a  plunk  to  be  a  token  of 
confidence,  and  I  at  once  expressed  dis- 
pleasure at  the  boy's  betrayal  of  his  trust. 
I  told  him  such  an  act  would  make  dark 

198 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

lines  upon  his  aura  which  might  not  fade 
for  several  days. 

"  Say,  ain't  you  got  some  message  'to 
send  back? "  he  asked. 

"  Boy!  "  said  I,  "  don't  forget  your  little 
aura." 

"All  right,"  he  answered,  "I'll  tell  him 
'  Don't  forget  your  little  Aura.'  I'll  bet  he 
coughs  up  another  plunk." 

I  don't  know  what  he  meant,  but  I  am 
very  much  afraid  there  may  be  some  mis- 
take.— Oh,  yes,  I  am  quite  sure  to  be  back 
in  time  for  the  Solstice. — Or  at  least  for 
the  Eclipse. 

THE  FOURTH  RECORD 

(Note. — Between  this  logogram  and  the  last  the  Long's 
Peak  Receptive  Pulsator  was  unfortunately  not  in  opera- 
tion for  the  space  of  a  fortnight,  as  the  electrician  who 
took  the  instrument  apart  for  adjustment  found  it  neces- 
sary to  return  to  Denver  for  oil.) 

— Yes,  dear,  it's  me,  though  if  I  did  not 
know  personality  to  be  indestructible  I 
should  begin  to  have  my  doubts.  I  have 
not  made  any  more  mistakes,  that  is,  not 
any  bad  ones,  since  I  went  to  the  Astoria 

199 


ON)    aSHE    LIGHTSHIE 

alone  for  lunch,  and  the  elementals  were  so 
very  disagreeable  just  because  I  had  no 
money.  I  know  all  about  money  now,  ex- 
cept exactly  how  you  get  it,  and  Tuck  as- 
sures me  that  is  really  of  no  importance. 
I  never  told  Ooma  how  the  blue-eyed  As- 
torian  paid  my  bill  for  me,  and  her  per- 
ceptive faculties  have  grown  too  dull  to  ap- 
prehend a  thing  she  is  not  told.  Fresh 
roses  still  come  regularly  every  day,  and  of 
course  I  can  do  no  less  than  express  my 
gratitude  now  and  then. — Oh,  I  don't  know 
how  often,  I  don't  remember. — But  it  is 
ever  so  much  pleasanter  to  have  some  one 
you  like  to  show  you  the  way  about  than 
to  depend  on  hypnotizing  strangers,  who 
may  have  something  else  to  do. 

— I  told  you  last  week  about  the  picnic, 
did  I  not?  The  day,  I  mean,  when  Bloomer 
took  me  into  the  country,  and  Tuck  so  far 
forgave  my  rudeness  to  him  as  to  come  with 
us  to  carry  the  basket. — Oh,  yes,  indeed,  I 
am  becoming  thoroughly  domesticated  on 
Earth.     And,  my  dear,  these  humans  are 

200 


ON   lTHE   lightshir 

docility  itself  when  you  once  acquire  the 
knack  of  making  them  do  exactly  as  you 
wish,  which  is  as  easy  as  falling  off  a  log. 
— A  log  is  the  external  evidence  of  a  pre- 
existent  tree,  cylindrical  in  form,  and  though 
often  sticky,  not  sufficiently  so  to  be  adhe- 
sive. 

— That  picnic  was  so  pleasant — or  would 
have  been  but  for  Bloomer's  anxiety  that  I 
should  behave  myself,  and  Tuck's  anxiety 
that  I  should  not — that  I  determined  to 
have  another  all  by  myself — and  I  have 
had  it. 

I  traveled  to  the  same  little  dell  I  de- 
scribed before,  and  I  put  my  feet  in  the 
water  just  as  I  wasn't  allowed  to  do  the 
other  day.  And  I  built  a  fire  and  almost 
cooked  an  egg  and  ate  cake  (an  egg  is  the 
bud  of  a  bird,  and  cake  is  edible  poetry) 
sitting  on  a  fence. — Fences  grow  horizon- 
tally and  have  no  leaves. — Don't  ask  so 
many  questions! 

After  a  while,  however,  I  became  tired 
of  being  alone,  so  I  started  off  across  some 

201 


M" 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

beautiful  green  meadows  toward  a  hillside, 
where  I  had  observed  a  human  walking 
about  and  waving  a  forked  wand.  He 
proved  the  strangest-looking  being  I  have 
met  with  yet,  more  like  those  wild  and 
woolly  space-dwellers  who  tumbled  out 
when  that  tramp  comet  bumped  against 
our  second  moon.  But  he  was  a  considerate 
person,  for  when  he  saw  me  coming  and 
divined  that  I  should  be  tired,  he  piled  up 
a  quantity  of  delicious-scented  herbage  for 
me  to  sit  on. 

"Good-morning,  mister,"  I  said,  plump- 
ing myself  down  upon  the  mound  he  had 
made,  and  he,  being  much  more  impression- 
able than  you  would  suppose  from  his 
Uranian  appearance,  replied. 

"  I  swan,  I  like  your  cheek.'* 

"  It's  a  pleasant  day,"  I  said,  because 
one  is  always  expected  to  announce  some 
result  of  observation  of  the  atmosphere.  It 
shows  at  once  whether  or  not  one  is  an  idiot. 

"  I  call  it  pretty  danged  hot,"  he  re- 
turned, intelligently. 

203 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"  Then  why  don't  you  get  out  of  the 
sun?"  I  suggested,  more  to  keep  the  con- 
versation fluid  than  because  I  cared  a  bit. 

"  I'm  a-goin'  to,"  he  answered,  "  just  as 
soon  as  that  goU-darned  wagon  comes."  (A 
"  goU-darned  "  wagon  is,  I  think,  a  wagon 
without  springs.) 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  then?"  I 
asked,  beginning  to  fear  I  should  be  left 
alone  again  after  all  my  trouble. 

"  Goin'  home  to  dinner,"  he  replied,  and 
I  at  once  said  I  would  go  with  him. — You 
see,  I  had  placed  a  little  too  much  reliance 
on  the  egg. 

"  I  dunno  about  that,  but  I  guess  it  will 
be  all  right,"  he  urged,  hospitably,  and 
presently  the  goU-darned  wagon  arrived 
with  another  man,  who  turned  out  to  be  the 
first  one's  son  and  who  looked  as  though  he 
bit. 

Together  the  two  threw  all  the  herbage 
into  the  wagon  till  it  was  heaped  far  above 
their  heads. 

"How  am  I  ever  to  get  up?"  I  asked, 


ON    OCHE    LIGHTSHIP 

for  I  had  no  idea  of  walking  any  farther, 
and  I  could  see  the  man's  white  house  ever 
so  far  away. 

"  Who  said  you  was  goin'  to  get  up  at 
all?"  inquired  the  biter,  disagreeably,  but 
the  other  answered  for  me. 

"  I  said  it,  that's  who,  you  consarned 
jay,"  he  announced,  reprovingly. 

When  I  had  made  them  both  climb  up 
first  and  give  me  each  a  hand,  I  had  no 
difficulty  at  all  in  mounting,  but  I  was 
very  careful  not  to  thank  the  Jay,  which 
seemed  to  make  him  more  morose  than 
ever.  Then  they  slid  down  again,  and  off 
we  started. 

Once  when  we  came  to  some  lovely  blue 
flowers  growing  in  water  near  the  roadside 
I  told  the  Jay  to  stop  and  wade  in  and  pick 
them  for  me. 

"I'll  be  dogged  if  I  do,"  he  answered; 
so  I  said: 

"  I  don't  know  what  being  '  dogged ' 
means,  but  if  it  is  a  reward  for  being  nice 
and  kind  and  polite,  I  hope  you  will  be." 

204 


ox    THE     LIGHT  SHIR 

Whereupon  he  bit  at  me  once  and  waded 
in,  while  the  older  man,  whose  name,  it 
seems,  was  Pop,  sat  down  upon  a  stone  and 
laughed. 

"  Gosh!  If  this  don't  beat  the  cats,"  he 
said,  slapping  his  knee,  which  was  his  way 
of  making  himself  laugh  harder. 

I  put  the  flowers  in  my  hair  and  in  my 
belt  and  wherever  I  could  stick  them.  But 
there  was  still  a  lot  left  over,  and  whenever 
we  met  people  I  threw  them  some,  which 
appeared  to  please  Pop,  but  made  the  Jay 
still  more  bite-y. 

Presently  we  came  to  a  very  narrow 
place  and  there,  as  luck  would  have  it,  we 
met  an  automobile. — Thank  goodness,  I 
need  not  explain  automobile. — And  who 
should  be  at  the  lever  all  alone  but — the  As- 
torian. 

I  recognized  him  instantly,  and  he  recog- 
nized me,  which  was,  I  suppose,  his  reason 
for  forgetting  to  stop  till  he  had  nearly  run 
us  down.  In  a  moment  we  were  in  the  wild- 
est tangle,  though  nothing  need  have  hap- 

205 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

pened  had  not  the  Jay  completely  lost  his 
temper. 

"Hang  your  picture!"  he  called  out, 
savagely,  "What  do  you  want? — The 
Earth?" 

And  with  that  He  struck  the  animals — - 
the  wagon  was  not  self-propelling — a  vio- 
lent blow,  and  they  sprang  forward  with 
a  lurch  which  made  the  hay  begin  to  slip. 
I  tried  to  save  myself,  but  there  was  noth- 
ing to  catch  hold  of,  so  off  I  slid  and — oh, 
my  dear,  my  dear,  just  fancy  it! — I  landed 
directly  in  his  lap. — No,  not  the  Jay's. — - 
Of  course,  I  stayed  there  as  short  a  time  as 
possible,  for  he  was  very  nice  about  moving 
up  to  make  room  for  me  on  the  seat,  but  I 
am  afraid  it  did  seem  frightfully  informal 
just  at  first. 

"  It  was  all  the  fault  of  that  consarned 
Jay,"  I  explained,  as  soon  as  I  had  recov- 
ered my  composure,  "  and  I  shall  never  ride 
in  his  goll-darned  wagon  again." 

"  I  sincerely  hope  you  will  not,"  replied 
Astoria,  looking  at  me  with  the  most  curi- 

206 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

ous  expression.  **  It  would  be  much  better 
to  let  me  take  you  wherever  you  wish 
to  go." 

"  That's  awfully  kind  of  you,"  I  said, 
"but  I  don't  care  to  go  anywhere  in  par- 
ticular this  afternoon,  except  as  far  as  pos- 
sible from  that  objectionable  young  man." 

The  Astorian  did  not  speak  again  till  he 
had  turned  something  in  the  machine  to 
make  it  back  and  jerk,  and,  once  free  from 
the  upset  hsiy,  go  on  again. 

"  Say,  Sissy,  I  thought  ^^-ou  was  comin' 
to  take  dinner,"  Pop  called  out  from  under 
the  wagon,  where  he  had  crawled  for  safety, 
and  when  I  replied  as  nicely  as  I  could, 
"  No,  thank  you,  not  to-day,"  he  said 
again,  quite  sadly  as  I  thought,  "  Gosh 
blim  me,  if  that  don't  beat  the  cats ! "  and 
also  several  other  things  I  could  not  hear, 
because  we  were  moving  away  so  rapidly. 

When  we  had  gone  about  a  hundred  miles 
— or  yards,  or  inches,  whichever  it  was — 
the  Astorian,  who  had  been  sitting  very 
straight,    inquired    if    those    gentlemen — 

207 


ON  lTjHE  lightship 

meaning  Pop  and  Jay; — ^^^ere  near  rela- 
tions. 

I  showed  him  plainly  that  I  thought  his 
question  Uranian,  and  explained  that  I  had 
not  a  relative  on  Earth.  Then  I  told  him 
exactly  how  I  had  come  to  be  with  them, 
and  about  my  picnic  and  the  egg,  I  am 
afraid  I  did  not  take  great  pains  to  make 
the  story  very  clear,  for  it  was  such  fun  to 
perplex  him.  He  is  not  at  all  like  the 
Venus  people,  who  have  become  so  super- 
latively clever  that  they  are  always  bored 
to  death. 

"Were  you  surprised  to  see  me  flying 
through  the  air? "  I  asked. 

"Oh,  no,"  he  said;  "I  have  always 
thought  of  you  as  coming  to  Earth  in  some 
such  way  from  some  far-distant  planet." 

"  Oh,  then,  you  know!  "  I  gasped. 

[The  Astorian  laughed. 

"I  know  you  are  the  one  perfect  being 
in  the  world,  and  that  is  quite  enough,"  he 
said,  and  I  saw  at  once  that  whatever  he 
had  guessed  about  me  he  knew  nothing  at 
all  of  the  Settlement. 

208 


ON    THE     LIGHTSHIP 

"  Miss  Aura,"  he  went  on, — he  has  called 
me  that  ever  since  that  little  embryonic 
made  his  stupid  blunder,  and  I  have  not 
corrected  him — ^here  it  is  almost  necessary 
to  have  some  sort  of  a  name — "  Miss  Aura, 
don't  you  think  we  have  been  mere  acquaint- 
ances long  enough?    I'm  only  human " 

*'Yes,  of  course,"  I  interrupted,  "but 
then  that  is  not  your  fault " 

"  I'm  glad  you  look  upon  my  misfortune 
so  charitably,"  he  said,  a  trifle  more  puzzled 
than  usual,  as  I  fancied. 

"  It  is  my  duty,"  I  replied.  "  I  want  to 
elevate  you;  to  brighten  your  existence." 

**  My  Aura!"  he  whispered;  and  I  was 
not  quite  sure  whether  he  meant  me  or 
not. 

We  w^ere  moving  rapidly  along  a  broad 
road  beside  a  river.  There  were  hills  in  the 
distance  and  the  air  from  them  was  in  the 
key  of  the  Pleiades.  There  were  gardens 
everywhere  full  of  sunlight  translated  into 
flowers,  and  without  an  efl'ort  one  divined 
the  harmony  of  growing  things.  I  felt  that 
something  was  about  to  happen;  I  knew  it, 

209 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

but  I  did  not  care  to  ask  what  it  might  be. 
Perhaps  if  I  had  tried  I  could  not  have 
known;  perhaps  for  that  hour  I  was  only 
an  Earth  girl  and  could  only  know  things 
as  they  know  them,  but  I  did  not  care. 

We  were  going  faster,  faster  every  mo- 
ment. 

"  Was  it  you  who  willed  me  to  come  out 
into  the  country? "  I  asked.  "  Have  you 
been  watching  for  me  and  expecting  me? " 

We  were  moving  now  as  clouds  that  rush 
across  a  moon. 

"  I  think  I  have  been  watching  for  you 
all  my  life  and  willing  you  to  come,"  he 
said,  which  shows  how  dreadfully  unjust  we 
sometimes  are  to  humans. 

"  While  I  was  on  another  planet? "  I  in- 
quired. "  While  we  were  millions  and  mil- 
lions of  miles  apart?  Suppose  that  I  had 
never  come  to  Earth?" 

We  were  moving  like  the  falling  stars 
one  journeys  to  the  Dark  Hemisphere  to 
see, 

"  I  should  have  found  you  all  the  same," 

210 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

he  whispered,  half  laughing,  but  his  blue 
eyes  glistened.  "  I  do  not  think  that  space 
itself  could  separate  us." 

"Oh,  do  you  realize  that?"  I  asked, 
"  and  do  you  really  know?  " 

"  I  know  I  have  you  with  me  now,"  he 
said,  "  and  that  is  all  I  care  to  know." 

We  were  flying  now,  flying  as  comets  fly 
to  perihelion.  The  world  about  was  slip- 
ping from  us,  disintegrating  and  dissolving 
into  cosmic  thoughts  expressed  in  color. 
Only  his  eyes  were  actual,  and  the  blue  hills 
far  away,  and  the  wind  from  them  in  the 
key  of  the  Pleiades. 

"  There  shall  never  anv  more  be  time  or 
space  for  us,"  he  said. 

"But,"  I  protested,  "w^e  must  not  over- 
look the  fundamental  facts." 

"  In  all  the  universe  there  is  just  one 
fact,"  he  cried,  catching  my  hand  in  his, 
and  then — 

(Note:   Here  a  portion  of  the  logogram 

becomes  indecipherable ,  owing,  perhaps,  to 

the  passage  of  some  large  bird  across  the 

211 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

line  of  projection.    What  follows  is  the  last 
recorded  vibragraph  to  date,) 

— ^Yes,  dear,  I  know  I  should  have  been 
more  ckcumspect.  I  should  have  remem- 
bered my  position,  but  I  didn't.  And  that's 
why  I'm  engaged  to  be  married. — You  have 
to  here,  when  you  reach  a  certain  point — • 
I  know  you  will  think  it  a  great  come-down 
for  one  of  us,  but  after  all  do  we  not  owe 
something  to  our  sister  planets? — 


212 


THE  UNEXPECTED   LETTER 


THE  UNEXPECTED  LETTER 

AS  much  as  I  dislike  superlatives,  I 
/^L      must  confess  that  nothing  in  my 
/     ^^    life  has   given  me  greater  sur- 
prise than  that  letter  addressed 
to  me  in  a  firm  but  unfamiliar  hand,  face 
upward  on  the  counter  of  a  small  curiosity 
shop    in    an   insignificant    by-street    of    a 
strange  city, 

I  have  a  weakness  for  such  small  shops, 
where  one  is  commonly  permitted  to  roam 
at  will  amid  a  multitude  of  attractive  ob- 
jects without  the  slightest  obligation  to  buy, 
and  the  proprietors  are  often  men  of  intel- 
ligence and  education.  When  I  have  leisure 
I  rarely  resist  the  temptation  to  enter,  and 
in  this  case  the  impulse  had  been  almost 
mandatory. 

It  was  my  first  visit  to  Selbyville,  and  I 
may  say  that  it  will  probably  be  my  last; 

215 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

for  I  have  never  seen  a  duller,  less  interest- 
ing place.  A  bad  connection  had  left  me 
stranded  at  the  railway  station  there,  with 
several  hours  to  be  disposed  of,  as  I  feared, 
in  aimless  wanderings  along  streets  and 
avenues  each  one  more  crude  and  common- 
place than  the  last;  but  the  chance  dis- 
covery of  a  favorite  haunt  filled  me  at  once 
with  lively  satisfaction. 

A  dark  and  musty  little  shop,  it  proved 
to  be,  and  its  owner  all  I  could  have  wished 
— a  mild  old  Dickens  person  who  had  a 
virtuous  pride  in  his  collection,  and  at  once 
divined  in  me  a  sympathetic  listener.  At 
first  I  followed  him  from  case  to  case  with 
unaffected  interest  and  attention;  but  pres- 
ently, I  own,  his  conversation  grew  a  trifle 
wearisome,  and  I  allowed  my  thoughts  to 
stray. 

He  had  produced,  as  I  remember  well,  a 
tray  of  antique  cameos,  and  to  make  room 
for  it  upon  the  counter  brushed  aside  a  lit- 
ter of  disordered  papers.     Neglected  bills, 

they  seemed  to  be,  and  circulars  such  as  a 

216 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

careless  man  forgets  to  throw  away.  But 
I  noted  nothing  more;  for  suddenly  amid 
the  trash  my  own  familiar  name  confronted 
me,  bold,  clear,  and  unmistakable,  across 
a  large  and  square  envelope  of  a  bluish  tint : 
"  Josiah  Brunson  Dykefellow,  Esq.,  109 
South  Ninth  Street,  City." 

Now,  I  am  not  a  man  to  jump  at  rasH 
conclusions.  The  address,  of  course,  was 
one  that  might  be  found  in  almost  any  city; 
but  as  it  happened  to  be  mine  in  Mason- 
burg,  and  as  my  name  was  not  "a  common 
one,  to  say  the  least,  the  letter  seemed  so 
clearly  meant  for  me  that  I  should  have 
taken  it  without  compunction,  could  I  have 
done  so  unobserved.  But  the  merchant 
never  left  me  for  a  moment,  and  though 
most  amiable  I  gave  him  credit  for  too 
much  good  sense  to  deliver  a  sealed  com- 
munication on  the  unsupported  statement 
of  a  perfect  stranger;  for  I  had  left  my 
card-case  in  my  satchel  at  the  station,  and 
as  I  am  a  bachelor  my  linen  is  unmarked. 

However  the  letter  came  to  be  there,  it  was 

217 


ON    tXHE    LIGHTSHIP. 

evident  that  I  should  have  to  exercise  diplo- 
macy to  gain  possession  of  my  own.  And 
so,  continuing  our  circuit  of  the  shop,  I 
weighed  the  matter  nicely.  My  final  reso- 
lution was,  I  shall  always  think,  little  short 
of  inspiration. 

We  had  reached  an  ancient  rosewood 
wardrobe  of  enormous  size  and  hideous  de- 
sign before  I  found  the  opportunity  to  put 
my  plan  in  operation. 

"Ah!  this  is  something  I  should  like  to 
own,"  I  cried,  ''  provided  that  my  new 
rooms  are  large  enough  to  hold  it.  And,"  I 
added  carelessly,  "perhaps  you  can  direct 
me  to  the  address" — I  feigned  to  consult 
a  memorandum — "109  South  Ninth  Street." 

The  worthy  dealer  turned  on  me  a  look 
of  half -amused  surprise.  "  That's  here," 
he  said — "  right  here,  this  street  and  house." 

"Indeed!"  I  cried,  though  I  had  not 
been  wholly  unprepared  for  such  an  an- 
swer. "  That's  really  odd!  for  this,  my  dear 
sir,  is  the  very  place  where  I  was  told  to 

seek  lodgings." 

218 


ON    -THE    LIGHTSHIE 

"There  must  be  some  mistake,"  replied 
the  dealer  civilly;  "  for  as  it  is  the  house  is 
too  small  to  accommodate  my  family." 

At  this  I  must  have  feigned  the  signs  of 
extreme  annoyance  rather  cleverly;  for  the 
dealer  joined  in  condemnation  of  officious 
friends  in  general,  and  especially  of  one 
McPherson,  a  second  auditor,  who  had  so 
misled  me. 

"That  ass  McPherson,"  I  explained, 
"has  put  me  to  the  greatest  inconvenience  1 
For,  feeling  certain  of  the  rooms,  I  have 
actually  given  this  address  to  correspond- 
ents. But,"  I  hastened  to  assure  my  cour- 
teous listener,  "  I  shall,  of  course,  write  at 
once  and  save  you  any  trouble  on  that  score. 
Please  save  the  wardrobe  for  a  day  or  two. 
My  name  is  Josiah  Brunson  Dykefellow." 

As  I  pronounced  each  syllable  with  dis- 
tinctness, I  could  perceive  the  dealer's 
kindly  face  expand  with  pleasure.  "Why, 
Mr.  Dykefellow! "  he  exclaimed,  "  a  letter 
came  for  you  this  morning.  I  was  about 
to  return  it  to  the  carrier.    Here  it  is." 

219 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP. 

I  thanked  him,  gave  the  square  envelope 
only  a  casual  glance  before  slipping  it  into 
an  inner  pocket,  and  then  bought  a  curio, 
scarcely  knowing  what  I  did.  I  could 
hardly  wait  to  see  my  purchase  wrapped 
in  newspaper.  I  feared  the  dealer  might 
think  better  of  his  confidence  and  make  de- 
mands on  me  for  identification,  I  felt  the 
prick  of  conscience  that  an  honest  man 
must  feel  w^ho  gains  even  a  righteous  vic- 
tory by  disingenuous  means. 

When  the  door  had  closed  behind  me  and 
I  was  free  to  stride  up  Ninth  Street  with 
my  curio  beneath  my  arm,  I  dreaded  at 
every  step  to  hear  the  hue  and  cry  of  "  Stop 
thief!  "  at  my  heels.  Once  safe  beyond  the 
nearest  corner,  I  actually  ran.  Up  one 
street,  down  another,  now  running,  and 
now  short  of  breath,  proceeding  at  a  rapid 
walk,  I  came  at  length  to  a  small,  well- 
nigh  deserted  public  square,  and  here,  seated 
on  a  retired  bench,  I  cautiously  took  out  my 
blue  envelope,  and  for  the  first  time  scruti- 
nized its  inscription. 

The  writer  was  evidently  a  person  of  de- 

220 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

cided  character ;  but  whether  man  or  woman 
it  was  impossible  to  guess.  There  was  some- 
thing mascuUne  about  the  stationery,  which 
suggested  a  well-appointed  club;  but  on  the 
other  hand,  the  seal  of  violet  wax,  the  rather 
blurred  impression  of  what  might  have 
been  a  dainty  crest,  the  smell  of  orris,  I 
fancied,  spoke  of  a  lady's  boudoir.  As  for 
the  postmark,  it  was  non-committal  as  to 
place,  but  the  hour  and  date  w^ere  clearly 
nine-thirty  p.  m.  the  previous  day,  which 
seemed  rather  late  for  a  lady;  but  again, 
few  men  ever  write  "  In  haste  "  across  the 
corner  of  a  letter.  Of  course  it  would  have 
been  a  simple  matter  to  have  solved  the 
mystery  then  and  there;  but  a  mystery 
solved  can  never  be  itself  again,  and  for 
the  moment  I  determined  to  prolong  the 
pleasures  of  anticipation.  I  chuckled  to 
myself,  and  cast  a  friendly  glance  about 
me,  vaguely  imagining  what  Selbyville 
might  mean  to  me  in  after  years.  Assum- 
ing an  easy  attitude  upon  the  bench,  I 
gazed  into  the  sky. 

*'Ah,  Fate!"  I  was  beginning  to  solilo- 

221 


ON    aCHE    LIGHTSHIE 

quize,  when  a  rude  voice  beside  me  inter- 
rupted. 

"  Say,  kape  yer  feet  ofFen  the  grass,  un- 
less ye  own  the  earth! "  it  said,  and  looking 
up  I  saw  before  me  the  sinister  visage  of  a 
minion  of  the  law.  "  And  what  are  ye  doin' 
here  anyway? ''  the  voice  went  on  while  the 
visage  turned  with  undisguised  suspicion 
toward  my  curio,  which  did  look  something 
like  an  infant  wrapped  in  newspaper. 

I  said  that  I  was  waiting  for  my  train, 
and  asked  with  all  humility  to  be  directed 
to  the  station. 

I  was  answered  with  contumely.  I  was 
commanded  to  "  Get  a  move  on! "  I  was 
told  with  scant  civihty  that  the  Union  Sta- 
tion was  only  one  block  away.  "  Even  you 
can't  miss  it,"  my  informant  said.  "  Follow 
South  Ninth  Street." 

I  rose  and  thanked  the  man  witH  all  the 
dignity  at  my  command.  I  also  gave  him 
a  cigar,  which  seemed  to  mollify  him;  but 
if  my  random  flight  had  brought  me  once 

more  to  the  far  end  of  Ninth  Street,  I 

B22 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

should  have  let  every  train  that  ever  cleared 
from  Selbyville  depart  without  me  rather 
than  have  risked  another  meeting  with  the 
curiosity  man.  As  I  sauntered  nonchalantly 
in  the  wrong  direction,  I  am  sure  that  I 
caught  a  vulgar  idiom  muttered  by  official 
lips. 

But  the  experience  had  taught  me  that 
one  who  has  a  secret  to  conceal  should 
avoid  above  all  things  making  himself  con- 
spicuous. So,  carrying  my  curio — which 
was  of  bronze  and  growing  every  moment 
heavier — as  though  it  was  a  package  from 
the  laundry,  I  struck  into  a  swinging  gait, 
and  hummed  a  popular  refrain.  My  single 
wish  now  was  to  seem  absolutely  sane;  for 
to  be  "  bug-house  "  (such  was  the  police- 
man's phrase),  though  not  a  crime,  may 
lead  to  inquiries,  perhaps  examination,  and 
I  was  by  no  means  certain  what  incrimina- 
ting matter  my  hidden  letter  might  contain. 
Thus  reasoning,  I  became  doubtful  all  at 
once  of  my  right  to  the  blue  envelope.  And 
the  more  I  thought  about  it,  the  weaker 


ON    .THE    LIGHTSHIP 

grew  my  confidence  in  the  course  I  had  pur- 
sued. What  if  after  all  I  had  appropriated 
some  one's  else  business,  some  one's  else  se- 
cret, the  hideous  clue  to  some  one's  else 
misdemeanor? 

It  had  been  my  half-formed  purpose  to 
walk  until  the  town  was  far  behind  me,  out 
into  the  quiet  country  where  there  were 
surely  haystacks  and  deserted  barns,  or  at 
least,  if  nothing  better  offered,  trees  to 
climb.  But  now  the  thought  occurred  to  me 
that  it  might  be  safer  to  read  my  letter  in 
broad  daylight  and  the  open  street,  than  in 
uncertain  and  suspicious  solitude. 

The  decision  was  a  wise  one,  and  I  lost 
no  time  in  turning  it  into  action;  for  my 
surroundings  at  the  moment  could  scarcely 
have  been  more  favorable.  I  stood  before 
what  appeared  to  be  a  public  building, 
tightly  closed  and  to  all  appearance  unused, 
and  right  at  hand  there  was  a  most  con- 
venient newel-post  on  which  to  rest  my 
curio,  which  had  for  some  time  been  threat- 
ening to  shed  its  wrappings  altogether.    I 

224. 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

can't  remember  now  just  what  it  was — 
some  Eastern  object,  doubtless — ^but 
scarcely  had  it  left  my  hands  when  all  the 
air  grew  resonant  with  yells  as  though  the 
fiends  of  Tophet  were  released  from  dur- 
ance ;  the  great  doors  of  the  building  opened, 
and  children,  innumerable  children,  issued 
forth.  I  have  never  in  mv  life  beheld  so 
many  children  all  at  once.  They  swarmed 
about  me  and  my  curio,  uttering  uncouth 
cries,  and  pointing  with  their  horrid  little 
fingers  urged  their  young  companions  far 
and  near  to  join  in  the  affray.  I  yield  to 
no  one  in  my  love  for  childhood — properly 
conducted  childhood — but  Selbyville  is  not 
the  place  to  find  it. 

With  one  disheartened  cry,  I  grabbed  my 
property,  and  started  whither  I  neither 
knew  nor  cared,  the  children  pursuing  like 
a  pack  of  misbehaved  young  wolves.  I 
crossed  a  crowded  thoroughfare,  doubled  on 
my  tracks,  overturned  a  push-cart  full  of 
oranges,  threw  a  matinee  audience  into  wild 
alarm,  and  everywhere  I  seemed  to  hear  two 

225 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP. 

fatal  words.  And  when  at  last  I  threw, 
myself  upon  a  trolley-car  the  stupid  vul- 
garism still  rang  in  my  ears. 

I  am  sure  the  conductor  eyed  me  witK 
suspicion;  but  I  did  not  care;  for  I  was 
moving  every  moment  farther  from  the 
scenes  of  my  discomfiture,  my  curio  out  of 
sight  beneath  the  seat,  and  my  letter  safely 
in  my  inside  pocket.  I  picked  up  an  aban- 
doned paper,  and  read  it,  or  appeared  to 
do  so,  with  composure,  though  all  the  while 
the  fingers  of  my  left  hand  never  ceased  to 
pinch  the  blue  envelope,  making  fresh  dis- 
coveries. 

Within  the  sheet  of  folded  note-paper 
there  was  unquestionably  an  inclosure  of  a 
smaller  size  and  softer  texture,  perhaps  a 
bank-note,  perhaps  a  draft.  Of  course  I 
held  my  imagination  well  in  check,  and 
tried  to  think  of  nothing  more  important 
than  a  newspaper  cutting;  but  even  this  al- 
lowed a  certain  scope  for  fancy.  Adver- 
tisements for  missing  heirs  are  not  uncom- 
mon, and  even  poems  when  embalmed  in 

226 


ON    .THE    LIGHTSHIE 

orris  may  have  deep  significance.  Ah! 
What  if  I  were  rich?  What  if  I  were 
loved?  What  if  both  at  once?  The  thing 
is  not  impossible.  Soon  I  should  know  all, 
beneath  my  haystack,  in  my  barn,  or,  bird- 
like, swinging  in  my  tree.  I  was  so  cer- 
tain now  that  what  had  cost  so  much  incon- 
venience must  be  all  my  own,  that  I  would 
have  parted  from  the  blue  envelope  only 
with  my  life. 

It  was  a  shock  to  Have  my  dreaming  in- 
terrupted by  the  conductor's  cheerful  call, 
"All  out!"  and  to  find  that  the  thrice 
accursed  trolley  had  all  the  while  been  fly- 
ing, not  toward  the  country,  but  into  the 
depths  of  darkest  Selbyville,  where  gas- 
works, rolling-mills,  and  docks  compete  for 
grimy  precedence.  But  if  by  that  time  I 
had  not  grown  used  to  disappointment,  the 
opportunity  to  abandon  my  curio  beneath 
the  seat  would  have  made  up  for  much. 

I  have  often  wondered  since  my  after- 
noon in  Selbyville  where  the  man  who  wrote 
in  praise  of  solitude  obtained  his  informa- 

227 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

tion.  I  feel  convinced  that  Crusoe  never 
sat  down  for  a  quiet  pipe  without  black 
Friday  butting  in  to  ask  what  time  it  was. 
But  this  is  idle  speculation. 

Once  freed  from  my  incumbrance,  my 
heart  beat  high  with  hope,  and  crawling 
through  a  broken  fence  I  found  myself 
within  a  lumber-yard.  On  every  hand  well- 
ordered  planks  were  piled  repose  fully,  and 
under  foot  the  ground  was  soft  with  saw- 
dust. And  here  I  lost  no  time  in  taking 
out  my  letter.  As  I  did  so,  a  new  and  most 
absorbing  possibility  flashed  upon  me.  The 
smaller  inclosure  might  be  a  photograph, 
one  of  those  unmounted  carbon  prints  taken 
by  amateurs,  and  so  frankly  truthful  that 
only  good-looking  people  care  to  send  them 
to  their  friends.  I  felt  my  pulses  flutter  at 
the  thought  and  pressed  the  blue  envelope 
to  my  lips,  secure  from  observation,  as  I 
fancied. 

But  such  was  not  the  case.  A  large 
check- jumpered  person,  with  a  protruding 
jaw,  perched  on  a  heap  of  railway  ties,  had 

22a 


ON    lTjHE    lightship. 

been  regarding  me  witH  tolerant  amuse- 
ment all  the  while.  "  Well,  what  in  Para- 
dise are  you  up  to  anyhow?"  he  drawled 
complacently. 

"  I  trust  that  you  will  pardon  the  intru- 
sion," I  replied  politely;  **but  I  have  taken 
the  liberty  of  stepping  in  to  read  a  letter." 

"  Then  you  can  just  step  out  again,"  re- 
turned the  man  with  a  deliberation  in  itself 
a  rudeness.    "  This  ain't  no  reading-room." 

"  But,"  I  protested,  "  surely  you  will  not 
grudge  me  a  modicum  of  solitude  and 
quiet? " 

"  I  guess  we  ain't  got  what  you  w^ant  in 
stock  to-day.  I  guess  you'd  better  inquire 
up  at  the  jail;  they  make  a  sort  of  specialty 
of  just  them  things." 

I  left,  unwilling  to  expose  myself  to  fur- 
ther incivility;  and  presently  I  quitted  the 
gas-house  region  altogether;  but  not  before 
I  had  been  driven  from  a  brewery  by  a  dog, 
and  from  a  canal-boat  by  a  woman  barge- 
man; a  stevedore  had  challenged  me  to 
fight,   and   an  intoxicated  roustabout  had 

229 


ON    ,TjHE    LIGHTSHIP 

given  me  an  apple.  And  nowhere,  nowhere, 
did  I  find  a  spot  to  read  my  letter. 

Time  passed;  how  much  I  shall  never 
know,  for  I  had  lost  all  track  of  it.  Nor 
could  I  find  to-day  the  little  bridge  where, 
weary  and  disheartened,  I  sank  down  upon 
the  broad  stone  coping  to  rest.  Below,  the 
waters  tumbled  foaming  through  a  raceway 
toward  the  turbines  of  a  power-house,  with 
a  sound  that  mingled  pleasantly  with  the 
whir  of  wheels  and  dynamos  within.  In 
contrast  with  the  sordid  sights  and  sounds 
of  Selbyville,  the  place  was  grateful  and 
refreshing  to  the  eye  and  ear,  and  looking 
from  the  coping  I  was  pleased  to  perceive 
a  shelf  of  masonry  projecting  below,  wide 
enough  to  form  a  comfortable  seat,  and 
easily  reached  by  a  short  drop  from  the 
bridge.  Here,  indeed,  was  an  oasis,  a 
refuge,  a  retreat.  But  unfortunately  the 
place  had  been  preempted  by  a  negro,  who 
appeared  to  be  asleep. 

"Hello!"  I  shouted,  for  nothing  short 
of  manslaughter  could  now^  balk  me  of  my 

230 


ON    tXHE    LIGHTSHIE 

purpose.      "Hello,    my    colored    friend! 
Would  you  not  like  to  earn  a  dollar? " 

"Sure,  boss!"  he  answered,  waking  in^ 
stantly. 

"  Then  go,"  I  said,  "  directly  to  the  City 
Hall  and  find  out  if  the  Mayor  is  in  town." 

(The  man  demurred,  until  the  actual  con- 
tact of  the  dollar  with  his  palm  convinced 
him  of  my  good  faith.  And  presently  he 
clambered  to  the  bridge,  while  I  lost  little 
time  in  dropping  to  his  place. 

"  Say,  boss,"  he  called  down  to  me  in  a 
nervous  whisper,  "  if  youse  done  goin'  to 
drown  yourself,  won't  you  please  wait  till 
I  get  off  where  I  cain't  hear  you  splash? " 

At  last  I  was  alone,  at  last  secure  from 
interruption!  And  scarcely  daring  to  be- 
lieve in  such  good  fortune,  I  crouched 
against  the  w^all  and  held  my  breath.  So 
minutes  went  by,  each  one  an  agony  of  fear 
that  some  fresh  difficulty  might  yet  confront 
me.  Then,  gaining  strength,  I  cautiously 
drew  forth  once  more  the  treasured  blue 
envelope. 

23 1: 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

My  hands  were  tremulous,  my;  nerves 
tingling  with  emotion;  but  I  had  schooled 
myself  to  bear  whatever  good  or  evil  Fate 
might  have  in  store.  The  strong  cool  wind 
from  beneath  the  bridge  brought  me  new 
courage,  and  the  very  machinery  seemed  to 
murmur  promises.  I  pressed  my  blue  en- 
velope to  my  heart;  I  laid  it  on  my  knee 
for  one  brief  instant,  to  experience  again 
the  tantalizing  delights  of  anticipation. 

The  breeze  became  a  gale.  It  threatened 
to  dislodge  my  hat,  and  in  one  mad  moment 
I  raised  both  hands.  In  the  next — I  know 
not  how  it  happened — in  the  next,  I  saw  my 
letter  far  below  where  the  wild  waters 
whirled.  For  an  instant  it  leaped  and 
danced  before  me,  lighter  than  the  foam, 
and  then  with  one  last  flash  of  blue  it  dis- 
appeared in  the  black  waters  of  the  turbine 

pit.  — "  Continued  on  page  14,"  Sunday  Magazine,  April  1,  '07. 

Much  as  I  dislike  superlatives,  I  may  say 
that  never  have  I  been  so  disappointed  and 
annoyed. 

("If  you  have  read  this  story,  it  may  be  well  to  remind 
you  that  this  is  April  1st." — Ed.  Sunday  Magazine.) 


THE   MONEY   METER 


THE    MONEY   METER 

HIRAM  CLATFIELD,  upon 
the  threshold  of  his  office, 
peered  out  into  the  counting- 
room  in  a  manner  difficult  to 
associate  with  the  inscriptions  on  the  plate- 
glass  door  half  open  at  his  back.  "  Pri- 
vate "  was  printed  there  in  gilded  letters, 
and  "  President,"  but  the  tone  of  the  presi- 
dent was  almost  that  of  one  who  asks  a 
favor  as  he  said: 

"Mr.  Wattles,  if  you  should  happen  to 
be  disengaged,  I  should  like  to  speak  with 
you  a  moment." 

The  cashier,  wheeling  on  his  lofty-legged 
stool,  gave  one  regretful  glance  toward  a 
regiment  of  figures,  a  marching  column  six 
abreast  from  which  he  had  been  casting  out 
the  nines,  and  replied  resignedly: 
"  I'm  disengaged  at  present." 

235 


ON    tXHE    LIGHTSHIP 

"Then  please  come  in,"  said  Mr.  Clat- 
field,  accepting  the  untruth  with  gratitude, 
"  Come  in  and  shut  the  door." 

The  room  marked  "  President,"  paneled 
in  quartered  oak  much  like  the  state  apart- 
ment of  a  private  car,  contained  a  polished 
desk,  six  chairs  with  red  morocco  seats,  a 
Turkish  rug,  and  the  portrait  of  a  former 
president  done  in  oil.  Beneath  the  picture, 
upon  a  pedestal  and  protected  by  a  dome  of 
glass,  stood  a  small  machine  which,  from 
time  to  time,  emitted  jerky,  nervous  clicks, 
and  printed  mystic  characters  upon  an  end- 
less paper  tape. 

The  former  president  upon  the  wall 
smiled  perpetually,  with  eyes  directed  to  the 
plate-glass  door,  as  though  it  pleased  him 
to  observe  through  it  the  double  row  of  neat 
young  men  on  lofty  stools  so  well  em- 
ployed. Perhaps  it  pleased  him  better  still 
to  watch  the  little,  brass-barred  windows 
farther  on,  where  countless  faces  came  and 
went  all  day  from  ten  till  three — thin  faces 
and  fat,  and  old  and  young,  and  hands,  in- 

236 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

numerable  hands,  some  to  carry  and  some 
to  fetch,  but  all  to  leave  a  tribute  for  whom- 
ever might  be  sitting  at  the  polished  desk. 

*' Please  read  this  item,  Mr.  Wattles,'* 
said  the  president,  indicating  with  a  well- 
kept  finger-nail  a  paragraph  in  the  Morn- 
ing Mercury,  and,  putting  on  his  glasses, 
Mr.  Wattles  read: 

"  Conservative  estimates  place  the  for- 
tune of  Hiram  Clatfield  at  seven  million 
dollars." 

At  the  same  moment  the  small  machine 
appeared  to  rouse  itself. 

"  Con-ser-vat-ive  -  est-i-ma-tes  -  place-the- 

for-tune  -  of  -  Hi-ram-Clat-field-at "    it 

seemed  to  repeat  deliberately;  as  for  dicta- 
tion, and  stopped. 

"  S.e.v.e.n.m.i.U.i.o.n.d.o.Ll.a.r.s,"  con- 
cluded a  typewriter  in  the  counting-room 
beyond  the  plate-glass  doors,  and  the  sen- 
tence ended  in  the  tinkle  of  the  little  bell 
which  gives  warning  that  a  line  is  nearly 
finished. 

Mr.  Wattles,  having  laid  the  paper  on 

237 


« 


ON    tXHE    LIGHTSHIE 

tHe  table,  wiped  his  glasses  with  a  pocket- 
handkerchief  and  held  them  to  the  light. 

"Do  you  propose  to  take  action  in  the 
matter?  "  he  inquired.  "  Is  there  anything 
I  can  do?" 

Mr.  Clatfield  moved  to  the  center  of  the 
rug  and  thrust  both  hands  into  his  trousers' 
pockets. 

Wattles,"  he  said,  "  is  that  thing  true?  " 
Not  altogether,"  said  the  other,  betray- 
ing nothing  in  his  tone  beyond  a  wish  for 
accuracy.  "  I  think  it  would  be  safe  to  say 
at  least — allowing  for  fluctuations — ten 
million  dollars." 

"  Al-low-ing-f  or-fluc-tua-tions "  re- 
peated the  ticker. 

"  T.e.n.m.i.l.l.i.o.n.d.o.l.l.a.r,s,"  the  type- 
writer concluded. 

Between  the  two  men  on  the  Turkish  rug 
there  was  so  little  to  choose  that,  with  straw 
cylinders  to  protect  his  cuffs  and  a  left  coat 
sleeve  somewhat  marred  by  wiping  pens, 
either  might  have  been  cashier,  and  with- 
out these  tokens  either  might  very  well  have 

238 


ON   lTHE   lightshie 

been  president.  The  banker  was  a  trifle 
bald  and  gray  about  the  temples.  The 
other's  hair  was  still  erect  and  of  a  hue  which 
had  suggested  "  Chipmunk "  as  a  fitting 
nickname  in  his  school  days. 

"  Wattles,"  said  the  banker  slowly, 
"what  is  ten  million  dollars?" 

"  Why,  it's — it's  a  heap  of  money,"  fal- 
tered the  cashier. 

The  other  took  a  turn  towards  the  mar- 
gin of  the  rug  and  back. 

"  That  doesn't  help  me,"  he  protested. 
"  That  doesn't  give  me  an  idea.  You  used 
to  be  so  full  of  fancies,"  he  went  on,  some- 
what pettishly;  "you  used  to  bring  a  book 
of  poetry  to  read  at  lunch  when  we  were 
kids  outside  there  " — he  nodded  toward  the 
counting-room.  "  You  used  to  laugh  at  me 
for  puzzling  over  discounts,  and  say  I  went 
about  with  blinders,  like  a  horse,  to  shut  out 
everything  that  was  not  right  ahead.  I 
never  could  imagine  anything — I  can't 
imagine  ten  millions  now.  How  long 
would  it  be  if  it  were  all  in  dollar  bills 

2S9 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

placed  end  to  end?  How  big  would  it  be 
if  it  were  in  two-cent  postage  stamps? " 

"  It  would  take  a  little  time  to  work  that 
out,"  replied  the  other  man  respectfully, 
though  not  without  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 
"  I  can  let  you  have  a  statement  in  half  an 
hour." 

"  Don't  do  it,  then,"  rejoined  the  banker. 
"  I'm  sick  of  figures,  and  you  never  needed 
them  when  you  used  to  make  up  fairy  tales 
as  we  went  roaming  through  the  streets 
after  the  bank  had  closed." 

"  I  often  make  up  fairy  stories  still," 
said  Mr.  Wattles,  "after  the  bank  has 
closed." 

"Do  you?"  demanded  the  other.  "Do 
you  still?  And  do  you  still  take  walks  be- 
fore going  home  to  supper? " 

"  Yes,  when  it  does  not  rain." 

"  And  do  you  think  it  will  be  clear  to- 
night?" 

Mr.  Wattles  laughed. 

"  To-night  I  shall  be  late  in  getting  off," 
he  said,  "  because  to-morrow^  is  a  holiday." 

240 


ON    iTrHE    LIGHTSHIB 


l-Lj 


What  holiday?''  inquired  Mr.  Clatfield. 

"  Christmas,"  said  Mr.  Wattles. 

"  I  don't  pretend  to  keep  track  of  all  the 
holidays,"  said  Mr.  Clatfield. 

**No,"  said  Mr.  Wattles,  "I  suppose 
not." 

It  was  a  busy  day  at  the  bank,  and  the 
city  clocks  had  sounded  six  before  the  cash- 
ier set  the  time-locks  in  the  vault  and  bade 
good-night  to  the  watchman  at  the  door. 
iBut  if  he  was  surprised  to  find  an  old  com- 
panion waiting  on  the  steps,  his  face  did 
not  betray  the  fact. 

"  I  thought  I'd  walk  a  little  way  with 
you,"  explained  the  banker,  with  an  at- 
tempt at  carelessness  that  overshot  the 
mark. 

"All  right,"  said  Mr.  Wattles,  button- 
ing up  his  serviceable  coat  and  bestowing  a 
quick,  chipmunk  glance  upon  the  weather. 
"  You  won't  mind  if  I  stop  to  get  my  col- 
lars?" 

A  misty  rain  was  falling,  and  the  streets 
were  filled  with  people  hurrying  home  from 

241 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

work.  As  the  two  men  fell  in  with  the  pro- 
cession the  banker  gave  an  awkward  little 
hop  to  catch  the  step. 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  take  your  laundry 
to  the  same  place  still? "  he  speculated. 

"  Oh,  yes,  the  same  old  place,"  replied 
the  other.  "  Mrs.  Brennan's  dead,  of 
course,  but  Mary  Ann  still  carries  on  the 
business." 

"  You  don't  mean  httle  Mary  Ann? " 

"  Yes,  she's  big  Mary  Ann  now,  and  has 
five  children  of  her  own.  Her  husband  was 
a  switchman  in  the  yards  until  he  got  run 
over  by  an  engine  two  years  ago." 

Connected  talk  was  difficult  in  the  jos- 
tling crowd,  and  often  the  two  men  pro- 
ceeded for  half  a  block  in  silence.  Once 
Mr.  Wattles  dived  into  a  little  shop  to  buy 
tobacco  for  his  pipe.  On  his  return  he 
found  the  banker  occupied  with  landmarks. 

*'  Didn't  there  use  to  be  a  grocery  over 
there?"  asked  Mr.  Clatfield. 

"Yes,  where  the  tall  building  now 
stands,"  replied  the  other.     "Do  you  re- 

242 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP. 

member  the  fat  groceryman  who  used  to 
sell  us  apples?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  the  banker  rejoined,  "  and 
they  were  first  rate  apples,  too.  Strange, 
but  I  can't  eat  apples  now ;  they  don't  agree 
with  me." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Wattles,  "I  suppose 
not." 

The  lighted  windows  of  a  great  depart- 
ment store  made  an  arcade  of  radiance  in 
the  murky  night,  creating  an  illusion  of 
protection  so  strong  that  one  might  well 
believe  oneself  indoors.  The  rain  was 
changing  into  snow,  which  melted  under 
foot  but  hung  about  the  hair  and  beards 
and  shoulders  of  the  passers-by.  Along 
the  curb  a  row  of  barrows  displayed  cheap 
toys  and  Christmas  greens  for  sale. 

"Do  you  remember  how  we  used  to  lin- 
ger at  the  shops,  and  pick  out  presents  and 
imagine  we  had  lots  of  money? "  Mr.  Wat- 
tles asked. 

"  That  was  your  game,"  answered  Mr. 
Clatfield.     "I  never  could  imagine  any- 

243 


ON  lXHE  lightship 

thing.  I  could  see  only  the  things  you 
pointed  out." 

It  seemed  to  the  banker  that  in  the  place 
of  his  middle-aged  cashier  there  walked  be- 
side him  an  odd,  alert  little  boy,  with  bris- 
tling hair  and  beady  eyes,  and  he  caught 
himself  looking  about  him  in  an  old,  vain 
hope  of  being  able  first  to  catch  sight  of 
something  interesting.  As  they  turned  into 
a  less  frequented  street  he  asked: 

"  What  became  of  the  old  woman  who 
made  butterscotch? " 

"  She  made  the  last  in  '81,"  replied  the 
other.  "  The  penny-in-the-slot  machines 
broke  up  her  business." 

"  Really? "  the  banker  commented.  "  It 
seems  a  pity." 

The  air  was  growing  colder  and  the 
dancing  motes  of  snow  made  halos  about 
every  street-lamp. 

"Don't  they  look  like  swarms  of  May- 
flies ?  "  remarked  Mr.  Wattles.  "  One  might 
almost  believe  it  was  summer." 


ON    QCHE    LIGHTSHIP 

"  Yes,  so  one  might,"  assented  Mr.  Clat- 
field,  "  now  that  you  speak  of  it." 

A  few  steps  up  a  slippery  alley  they 
stopped  before  a  shabby  little  house,  the 
shabbiest  of  a  row  of  little  houses,  each  one 
of  which  displayed  the  legend  "Washing 
Done." 

"  Come  in,"  said  the  cashier,  as  he  pushed 
open  the  door. 

Within,  a  tall  spare  woman  stood  with 
bare  red  arms  before  a  washtub  on  a  back- 
less wooden  chair.  Upon  the  floor,  amid 
the  heaps  of  linen  waiting  for  the  tub,  a 
litter  of  small  children  rolled  and  tumbled 
like  so  many  puppies.  Festoons  of  drying 
shirts  and  handkerchiefs  hung  in  an  atmos- 
phere of  steam  and  suds. 

At  sight  of  Mr.  Wattles  the  w^oman 
broke  into  a  flood  of  explanation  and  ex- 
cuse. The  water  had  been  frozen  all  the 
week,  the  sun  had  refused  to  shine,  the  baby 
had  been  sick.  There  w^ere  a  dozen  reasons 
why  he  could  not  have  his  collars,  as  the 

245 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

speaker  called  on  Heaven  to  bear  witness. 

"  You'd  have  'em  on  your  neck  this  min- 
ute," she  declared,  "  if  work  could  put  them 
there,  for  it's  meself  that  needs  the  money 
for  me  rint." 

"Ahem!"  said  Mr.  Wattles,  "I  fancied 
that  your  claim  against  the  railway  had  left 
you  pretty  comfortably  oif ." 

"Claim,  is  it?"  cried  the  laundress. 
"  Claim  against  the  railway?  Faith,  after 
keeping  me  waiting  for  two  years  they 
threw  me  out  of  court.  They  said  that 
Mike  contributed  his  negligence  and  that 
it  served  him  right." 

"  That  seems  a  little  hard,"  commented 
Mr.  Clatfield  guardedly,  for  he  was  a  di- 
rector in  the  railway. 

"  Small  blame  to  you,  but  you're  a  gen- 
tleman!" exclaimed  the  washerwoman. 

"At  least  your  husband  left  you  quite  a 
little  family,"  the  banker  ventured  to  sug- 
gest. 

"Contributory  negligence  again!"  said 
Mr.  Wattles  under  his  breath. 

246 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"  It's  all  a  body  has  to  do  to  keep  them 
fed,"  lamented  Mary  Ann,  "  as  maybe  you 
know  well  yourself,  sir,  if  you've  childer 
of  your  own." 

"  I  have  none,"  said  the  other. 

"God  pity  you!"  returned  big  Mary 
Ann. 

"  Ah,  that  reminds  me,"  put  in  Mr.  Wat- 
tles, and  coming  nearer  to  the  laundress,  he 
explained:  "  My  friend  here  is  the  banker, 
Mr.  Clatfield." 

"  It's  proud  I  am  this  day,"  she  answered^ 
with  a  courtesy. 

"  He  has  no  children,"  went  on  Mr.  Wat- 
tles, "  but  he  is  very  anxious  to  adopt  one, 
and  knowing  that  you  have  more  than  you 
really  need " 

"What  are  you  saying?"  began  Mr. 
Clatfield,  but  his  voice  was  drowned  in  an 
outbreak  from  the  woman. 

"Is  it  daft  ye  are?"  she  cried.  Mr. 
Wattles  continued,  unheeding: 

"  He  is  willing  to  give  you  ten  thousand 
dollars  for  such  a  one  as  this  " — indicating 

247 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP. 

with  his  cane  an  animated  lump  upon  the 
floor. 

"Me  Teddy,  is  it?"  cried  the  mother, 
catching  up  the  lump  and  depositing  it  for 
safety  in  an  empty  tub. 

"  Or  what  would  you  say  to  twenty  thou- 
sand for  this  one  here?"  persisted  Mr. 
Wattles,  again  making  use  of  his  cane. 

"  Sure  that's  me  Dan,"  the  woman  almost 
shrieked,  and  another  lump  went  into  the 
tub. 

"  Well,  we  are  not  disposed  to  quarrel 
over  trifles,"  went  on  Mr.  Wattles  cheer- 
fully. "  You  select  the  child  and  name  the 
price — twenty,  thirty,  forty  thousand — all 
in  cash." 

"  Gwan  out  of  this,  and  take  your  dirty 
money  wid  yez! "  cried  Mrs.  Murphy,  omi- 
nously rolling  a  wet  sock  into  a  ball. 

"Of  course,  if  you  feel  that  way,  we  shall 
not  urge  the  matter,"  said  INIr.  Wattles 
coldly.    Good-evening,  Mrs.  IVIurphy." 

"Bad  luck  to  yez  for  a  pair  of  thavin' 
vipers!"  she  called  after  their  retreating 

248 


ON  lTHe   lightship. 

figures.  "  If  I  had  me  strength  ye'd  not 
get  far." 

*'I  am  astonished  at  you,  Wattles,"  said 
Mr.  Clatfield  when  they  were  safe  beyond 
the  alley.  "  I  would  not  have  given  a  dol- 
lar for  the  lot." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Wattles,  "I  suppose 
not." 

The  two  men  walked  along  in  silence  for 
a  time,  while  Mr.  Clatfield  occupied  him- 
self with  efforts  to  divine  the  point  of  Mr. 
Wattles's  ill-timed  jest.  More  than  once  he 
would  have  cut  short  the  expedition  could 
he  have  thought  of  an  excuse,  and  though 
the  course  was  somewhat  devious,  they  were 
headed  in  a  general  way  toward  his  own 
front  door,  with  its  broad  marble  steps  and 
iron  lions.  The  people  in  the  street  were 
few  and  uninteresting,  the  houses  dull  and 
monotonous,  each  with  its  drawn  yellow 
shades  and  dimly  lighted  transom,  and  the 
banker  welcomed  the  sight  of  what  ap- 
peared to  be  a  gathering  of  some  sort  up 
ahead, 

249 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

They  had  come  out  upon  a  dreary  square, 
surrounded  by  tall  warehouses  and  whole- 
sale stores,  now  tightly  closed  and  barred 
with  iron  shutters.  A  line  of  vans  and 
drays  without  their  horses  occupied  an  open 
space  in  violation  of  the  law.  From  one  of 
these  a  man  addressed  a  little  group  of  in- 
attentive loiterers. 

The  audience  changed  constantly  as  those 
whose  passing  curiosity  was  satisfied  moved 
off  to  be  replaced  by  others,  but  the  man 
did  not  appear  to  care  how  few  or  many 
stayed  to  listen.  He  was  a  young  man,  and 
his  face,  in  the  full  glare  of  the  electric 
light,  was  radiant  with  enthusiasm  for  his 
theme,  whatever  it  might  be.  The  cashier 
pushed  his  way  into  the  crowd  and  Mr. 
Clatfield  followed. 

"  I  should  think  he  would  prefer  to  speak 
indoors  a  night  like  this/'  remarked  the 
banker. 

The  speaker's  subject  was  an  old  one, 
old  as  the  tree  of  Eden,  but  never  had  the 
two    newcomers    heard    a    more    effective 

250 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

speech.    Perhaps  the  setting  of  the  bleak, 
deserted  market-place  created  an  illusion. 

"  That  man  is  getting  rich,"  he  cried, 
"  who  can  every  day  add  a  little  to  the  sur- 
plus in  his  heart " 

"  What  interest  do  you  pay? "  called  out 
a  bystander  facetiously. 

"  None,"  repHed  the  young  man.  "  Ours 
is  a  profit-sharing  enterprise." 

"  That  don't  mean  anything,"  com- 
mented Mr.  Wattles ;  "  but  it  was  a  first- 
rate  answer  all  the  same.  It  made  the  peo- 
ple laugh." 

"I  wonder  why?"  demanded  Mr.  Clat- 
field. 

The  discourse  ended  presently  and  the 
audience  dispersed,  some  with  swinging 
dinner-pails  and  some  with  thin  coats  but- 
toned tightly  at  the  neck. 

"  It  does  a  fellow  good  to  hear  the  world 
ain't  going  to  the  dogs,"  remarked  a  burly 
laborer,  "  even  if  it  is  just  a  crank  who  says 
it." 

"Good-evening,"   said  the  young  man^ 

251 


ON  lXhe  lightship. 

jumping  from  his  dray  and  landing  within 
speaking  distance  of  the  two  adventurers. 
"  I'm  glad  to  see  you  here." 

"  And  we  are  glad  to  be  here,"  answered 
Mr.  Wattles.  "  We  have  been  greatly  in- 
terested, especially  my  friend  Mr.  Clatfield, 
the  banker." 

Mr.  Clatfield  drew  himself  erect,  for  he 
considered  such  an  introduction  unneces- 
sary. 

"  I  have  Heard  of  Mr.  Clatfield  often," 
said  the  other  simply,  "and  I  am  happy 
now  to  make  his  acquaintance.  Good- 
evening,  gentlemen;  I  hope  you'll  come 
again." 

"  One  moment,  please,"  the  cashier  inter- 
posed. "  We  will  not  detain  you  long,  but 
my  friend  here  has  a  proposition  to  make 
you.  He  is  about  to  build  a  large  church 
on  the  Heights,  and  he  is  anxious  to  secure 
a  preacher  who  entertains  the  views  you 
have  expressed  so  well.  May  I  ask  you, 
sir,  if  you  are  free  to  undertake  such  a 
charge?" 


ON    tTHE    LIGHTSHIP. 

The  young  man's  face  blushed  red  witK 
gratified  amazement. 

"A  church? — and  on  the  Heights?"  he 
stammered. 

"Yes,"  went  on  Mr.  Wattles,  "a  large 
church — very  large.  I  don't  suppose  you 
would  be  sorry  to  give  up  this  sort  of 
thing."  He  made  a  motion  of  his  head 
toward  the  dray. 

"Would  that  be  necessary?"  tHe  young 
man  asked, 

"Naturally,"  rejoined  the  other.  "iThe 
two  could  scarcely  be  combined." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  the  preacher,  "  I  am 
not  free," 

"  The  salary,  I  should  have  told  you,  will 
be  twenty  thousand  dollars." 

"You  ought  to  get  a  first-rate  man  for 
that  amount,"  replied  the  preacher.  "  I 
should  advise  you  to  consult  the  Bishop." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Wattles,  "and 
good-night." 

"  Wattles,"  cried  Mr.  Clatfield,  who  had 
heard  the  conversation  with  stupefied  aston- 

253 


O  ISr    T  H  E     LIGHTSHIP 

ishment  which  deprived  him  of  the  power 
of  speech;  "  Wattles,  I  have  not  the  slight- 
est idea  of  building  a  church  either  on  the 
Heights  or  anywhere  else." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Wattles,  "I  suppose 
not." 

"  I'm  going  home,"  announced  the 
banker. 

"  All  right,"  agreed  the  other.  "  We'll 
strike  through  here  to  Main  Street." 

At  Main  Street  they  were  detained  for 
several  minutes  at  the  corner  where  the 
trolleys  cross,  by  the  crowds  waiting  for 
the  cars  or  flocking  about  the  transfer 
agent  like  so  many  sheep  for  salt.  They 
seemed  a  dull,  bedraggled  lot  to  Mr.  Clat- 
field,  just  like  every  other  lot  who  waited 
every  night  there  for  blue  or  red  or  yellow 
trolley  cars.  But  the  cashier's  eyes  went 
wandering  from  face  to  face,  more  in  selec- 
tion than  in  search,  and  presently  he  nudged 
his  companion  to  call  attention  to  a  couple 
who  stood  apart  a  little  from  the  rest  under 
the  shelter  of  a  small,  inadequate  urn- 
brella. 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"What  of  them?"  asked  the  banker 
crossly.  "  You  need  not  look  far  to  see  a 
fellow  and  a  girl." 

The  fellow  in  this  case  was  tall  and 
stoutly  built,  and  the  fact  that  he  wore  no 
overcoat  might  have  been  set  down  to  stren- 
uous habits.  But  as  Mr.  Wattles  noted,  he 
was  the  only  man  without  an  evening 
paper,  and  he  wore  his  derby  hat  reversed 
in  order  that  a  worn  place  on  the  rim  might 
be  less  conspicuous. 

"I'll  bet  that  young  man  is  terribly  hard 
up,"  remarked  Mr.  Wattles. 

"  You  don't  want  me  to  adopt  him,  do 
you? "  demanded  Mr.  Clatfield. 

"  Oh,  no,  but  just  see  how  his  shoulder  is 
getting  soaked  with  drippings  from  the  wet 
umbrella." 

"That's  the  girl's  fault,"  said  Mr.  Clat- 
field.    "  I  guess  he  wishes  she  were  home." 

She  was  a  plain  girl  with  freckles  on  her 
nose;  she  carried  a  lunch  basket  and  her 
gloves  were  white  about  the  seams,  but  as 
the  young  man  whispered  something  in  her 
ear  even  Mr.  Clatfield  thought  that  he  had 

255 


ON    JCHE    LIGHTSHIP 

never  seen  a  more  attractive  smile.  When 
a  blue  car  came  along  the  young  man  helped 
her  carefully  to  mount  the  step,  and  in 
shaking  hands  they  laughed  and  made  a 
little  secret  of  the  act.  As  the  car  went  on 
its  way  the  young  man  ran  for  cover  to  the 
awning  beneath  which  stood  the  banker  and 
the  cashier. 

"  Good-evening,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Wattles. 
"  I  have  seen  you  often  at  the  bank." 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed,"  replied  the  other, 
highly  gratiiied  to  be  recognized  by  one  so 
great  as  Mr.  Wattles.  "  I  am  there  every 
day  for  my  employers,  Pullman  &  Push- 
ings." 

"An  excellent  firm,"  commented  Mr. 
Wattles.  "  I  understand  they  pay  their 
people  handsomely." 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,"  responded  the  other, 
laughing,  "it's  rather  handsome  to  pay  at 
all  in  times  like  these." 

"That's  true,"  assented  Mr.  Wattles. 
"  Times  are  dull,  and  more  than  likely  to 
get  worse." 

256 


ox    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  so,  really?  "  the  young 
man  asked  rather  wistfully. 

"  Sure  of  it,"  answered  the  cashier,  "  and 
if  you've  any  thought  of  asking  for  a  raise 
of  salary,  I  should  advise  you  not  to  do  so." 

"  I'm  very  much  obliged  for  the  advice," 
rejoined  the  other,  *'  because  I  have  been 
thinking " 

"Ahem!"  coughed  Mr.  Wattles,  inter- 
rupting. "  I  w^ant  to  introduce  you  to  our 
president,  Mr.  Clatfield." 

The  junior  clerk  took  off  his  hat  and  put 
it  on  again  the  right  way  by  mistake.  In 
his  confusion  he  had  not  observed  that 
Hiram  Clatfield  looked  frigidly  above  his 
head;  he  only  heard  the  cashier's  voice  con- 
tinuing like  enchanted  music: 

"  Mr.  Clatfield  has  for  some  time  been 
looking  for  a  private  secretary.  The  salary 
would  be  commensurate  wdth  the  responsi- 
bility from  the  first,  and  should  you  prove 
the  right  man — but  of  course  we  would 
make  no  promises.  Do  you  think  you  would 
be  disposed  to  consider  such  an  opening? " 

257 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 


"Would  I?"  gasped  the  junior  clerk. 

"  And,  by  the  way,  you  are  not  married, 
are  you?" 

"  No,"  said  the  young  man,  "  I'm  not, 
but " 

"  That's  good,"  continued  the  cashier. 
"  That's  very  fortunate,  for  Mr.  Clatfield 
prefers  that  his  confidential  secretaries 
should  be  single  men.  In  fact,  he  makes 
that  an  absolute  condition." 

"  The  deuce  he  does! "  replied  the  junior 
clerk.  "  Then  he  can  give  the  place  to  any- 
one but  me.  There  comes  my  yellow  car. 
Good-night,  and  much  obliged." 

"Wattles,"  cried  Mr.  Clatfield,  "have 
you  gone  crazy?  I  do  not  want  a  private 
secretary  on  any  terms!" 

"No,"  answered  Mr.  Wattles,  "I  sup- 
pose not." 

The  lighted  trolley  cars  went  shooting 
past.  The  wind  had  risen  till  the  big  um- 
brella of  the  transfer  agent  threatened  to 
go  sailing  skyward  like  a  yellow  parachute. 
Already  at  the  corners  the  ground  was  get- 

258 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

ting   white.     A  muffled   clock   somewhere 
struck  seven. 

"Wattles,"  said  Mr.  Clatfield,  "come 
home  and  dine  with  me.  I'd  like  to  talk 
about  our  walk." 

I  can't  to-night,"  replied  the  cashier. 
I'm  going  to  take  dinner  with  a  man 
named  Briggs." 

Mr.  Clatfield  tried  to  fancy  what  this  Mr. 
Briggs  was  like  and  what  his  dinner  would 
be  like,  but  in  either  case  failed  to  make  a 
picture  because  he  never  could  imagine  any- 
thing. 

"  At  least  come  with  me  to  the  door,"  he 
said. 

It  was  not  far  to  where  the  iron  lions 
crouched,  and  presently  the  two  men  stood 
before  them  shaking  hands. 

"  Good-night,"  said  Mr.  Clatfield.  "  This 
has  been  like  old  times.  I  suppose  you'll 
not  be  at  the  bank  to-morrow?" 

"  I  shall  be  there  for  an  hour  perhaps  to 
finish  up  some  work,"  replied  the  cashier. 
"  Is  there  anything  I  can  do? " 

259 


ON    tTHE    LIGHTSHIP 

He  drew  a  memorandum  book  from  his 
I)ocket.  Holding  the  page  in  the  light  of 
a  street  lamp,  his  eyes  fell  on  some  small, 
neatly  penciled  figures. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  said,  "  I  have  figured 
out  your  problem.  Ten  million  one-dollar 
bills  placed  end  to  end  would  reach  one 
hundred  and  ten  miles,  forty-eight  hun- 
dredths and  a  fraction." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Clatfield. 

"  In    two-cent    stamps "    continued 

the  cashier,  but  his  employer  interfered. 

"  Never  mind  the  stamps,"  he  said.  "  To- 
morrow, if  you  have  time,  I  should  like  you 
to  draw  three  checks  upon  my  private  ac- 
count." 

"  Three  checks "  repeated  Mr.  Wat- 
tles, preparing  to  make  a  note. 

''  For  twenty  thousand  each — no,  make  it 
fifty  thousand  each." 

"For  fifty  thousand  dollars  eacH — and 
payable  to " 

Mr.  Clatfield  hesitated  an  instant,  then 
went  on  desperately: 

260 


ON    a^HE    LIGHTSHIP 

"  One  payable  to  big  Mary  Ann;  one  to 
the  preaching  fellow,  and  one — make  it  out 
to  the  girl  with  the  freckles  on  her  nose." 

The  cashier  paused,  and  for  the  first  time 
in  his  long  service  ventured  to  dispute  in- 
structions. 

"  Hiram,"  he  said,  "  what  harm  have  they 
done  you? " 

Mr.  Clatfield  did  not  answer,  but  stood 
in  silence,  poking  his  cane  into  the  iron 
lion's  open  mouth. 


26r 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR 

LETTERS  of  introduction!"  Clara 
sighed.  "  One  can't  help  wishing 
i  they  were  made  misdemeanors  like 
other  lottery  tickets."  And  this 
being  Her  third  remark  of  kindred  import, 
curiosity  became  at  least  excusable.  So 
Mrs.  Penfield  stroked  a  sable  muff  in  si- 
lent sympathy. 

"  We  had  one  yesterday  from  Jack's 
Boston  aunt,"  went  on  her  charming  host- 
ess, "  a  Mrs.  Bates,  who  is  continually  send- 
ing us  spiritualists  or  people  who  paint 
miniatures,  or  Armenian  refugees,  just  be- 
cause we  spent  a  w^ek  or  so  with  her  one 
summer  when  the  children  had  the  mumps. 
In  Lent  one  does  not  mind,  one  rather  looks 
for  trials,  but  now  one's  dinner-table  is 
really  not  one's  own.  Maude,  do  let  me 
give  you  another  cup  of  tea;  it's  awfully 

265 


ON    SHE    LIGHTSHIP 

bad,  I  know;  we  have  to  buy  it  from  the 
Dunbar  girls.  If  one's  friends  would  only 
not  sell  things  one  has  to  drink! " 

"  Such  a  delightful  httle  tea-pot  would 
make  any  tea  delicious,  I  am  sure,"  mur- 
mured Mrs.  Penfield,  and  the  conversation 
rested  while  a  noiseless  menial  entered,  put 
wood  upon  the  fire,  and  illuminated  an  elec- 
tric bulb  within  an  opalescent  shell.  An 
odor  of  cut  flowers  floated  in  the  air  and  an 
exotic  whiff*  of  muffin. 

Mrs.  Fessenden,  when  she  had  made  the 
tea,  sank  back  once  more  among  the  cush- 
ions and  stretched  her  small  feet  to  the 
blaze. 

"I  am  not  at  home,  Pierre,"  she  an- 
nounced. 

"Perfectly,  Madame,"  replied  the  me- 
nial, as  though  the  absence  were  self- 
evident. 

Mrs.  Penfield  mused  and  sipped. 

"  Some  women  are  so  inconsiderate  when 
they  are  old,"  she  said  remindingly. 

"And  so  are  most  men  when  they  are 

^66 


ON    iTHE    LIGHTSHIP. 

young,"  rejoined  the  lady  of  the  cushions, 
"  and  Jack,  though  nice  in  many  ways,  is 
no  exception.  When  I  ask  him  to  help  by 
having  unexpected  men  who  must  be  fed  to 
luncheon  at  the  club,  he  says  champagne  at 
midday  gives  him  apoplexy.  And  so  we 
have  to  invite  an  unknown  person  to  our 
very  nicest  dinner." 

"  What  unknown  person?  "  inquired  Mrs. 
Penfield,  and  Clara  sighed. 

"A  Mr.  Hopworthy,"  she  replied. 
"Fancy,  if  you  can,  a  man  named  Hop- 
worthy." 

Mrs.  Penfield  tried  and  failed. 

"  What  is  he  like?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  haven't  an  idea.  He  called  here  yes- 
terday at  three  o'clock — fancy  a  man  who 
calls  at  three  o'clock!  and  Jack  insisted  on 
inviting  him  for  to-morrow  night — and  I 
had  to  give  so  much  thought  to  to-morrow 
night!" 

"Of  course  Ke  is  coming,"  put  im  Mrs. 
Penfield;  "  such  people  never  send  regrets." 
Or  acceptances  either,  it  would  seem," 

267 


a 


ON    lTjHE    lightship 

returned  her  friend;  *'  the  wretch  has  not  so 
much  as  answered,  and  soon  it  will  be  too 
late  to  get  even  an  emergency  girl." 

"  Oh,  one  can  always  scare  up  a  girl,"  the 
other  said  consolingly. 

Pierre  entered  with  a  little  silver  tray. 

"A  note,  if  Madame  pleases,"  he  an- 
nounced. Perhaps  had  Madame  pleased  a 
pineapple  or  a  guinea-pig  might  have  been 
forthcoming.  When  he  had  retired,  Ma- 
dame tore  open  the  envelope.  A  flush  of 
pleasure  made  her  still  more  charming. 

"  Hopworthy  has  been  seriously  in- 
jured!" she,  cried  almost  in  exulta- 
tion. 

"And  how  much  anxiety  you  Have  had 
for  nothing,  dear!"  said  Mrs.  Penfield, 
rising.  "  So  often  things  turn  out  much 
better  than  we  dare  to  hope.  What  does  he 
say? " 

"Oh,  only  this;  he  writes  abominably," 
and  Clara  read: 

Dear  Mrs.  Fessenden: 

I  assure  you,  nothing  less  than  a  serious  injury  could 
prevent  my  availing  myself  of  your  charming  invitation 
for  Wednesday  evening.    .    .    . 

268 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"  Oh,  Maude,  you  can't  think  what  a  re- 
lief this  is!" 

"But "    began    Mrs.    Penfield    and 

paused,  while  Clara,  folding  the  note,  tore 
it  deliberately  in  twain. 

*'  I  don't  believe  he  has  been  seriously 
hurt  at  all,"  she  said  on  second  thought. 
"  He  simply  did  not  want  to  come.  Fancy 
a  man  who  invents  such  an  excuse!" 

"But "    began    Mrs.    Penfield    once 

more,  when  Mrs.  Fessenden  interposed. 

"  I  shall  hope  never  to  hear  his  wretched 
name  again,"  she  said.  "  Maude,  dear,  you 
won't  forget  to-morrow  night?" 

"  Not  unless  Butler  forgets  me,"  said 
Mrs.  Penfield,  whereat  both  ladies  laughed 
the  laugh  that  rounds  a  pleasant  visit. 

"  Jack,"  w^hispered  Clara,  "  please  count 
and  see  if  everyone  is  here;  there  should  be 
twenty." 

It  was  Wednesday  evening,  and  the  Fes- 
senden's  Colonial  drawing-room  housed  an 
assembly  to  make  the  snow}^  breast  of  any 
hostess  glow  with  satisfaction,  especially  a 

269 


ON    ,XHE    LIGHTSHIP. 

Kostess  possessing  one  inch  less  of  waist  and 
one  inch  more  of  husband  than  any  lady^ 
present. 

Exactly    twenty,"    Jack    announced; 

that  is,  if  we  count  the  Envoy  and  the 
Countess  each  as  only  one,  which  don't 
seem  quite  respectful." 

"Please  don't  try  to  be  silly,"  said  his 
wife,  suspecting  stimulant  unjustly. 

To  her  the  function  was  a  serious  achieve- 
ment, nicely  proportioned,  complete  in  all 
its  parts;  from  Mrs.  Ballington's  tiara — a 
constellation  never  known  to  shine  in  hazy 
social  atmospheres — to  the  Envoy  Extraor- 
dinary's  extraordinary  foreign  boots.  Even 
the  Countess,  who  wore  what  was  in  effect 
a  solferino  tea-gown  with  high-bred  uncon- 
cern, was  not  a  jarring  note.  Everybody 
knew  how  the  Countess's  twenty  priceless 
trunks  had  gone  to  Capetown  by  mistake, 
and  her  presence  made  the  pretty  drawing- 
room  a  salorij  just  as  the  Envoy's  presence 
made  the  occasion  cosmopolitan.  When 
the  mandolin  club  in  the  hall  struck  up  a 

spirited  fandango,  no  pointed  chin  in  all 

270 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

the  town  took  on  a  prouder  tilt  than  Clara 
Fessenden's. 

The  Envoy  Extraordinary  had  just  let 
fall  no  less  a  diplomatic  secret  than  that,  in 
his  opinion,  a  certain  war  would  end  in 
peace  eventually,  when  Mrs.  Penfield,  who 
happened  to  be  near,  inquired: 

"  Oh,  Clara,  have  you  heard  anything 
more  of  that  Mr.  Hop  worthy?  " 

"Don't  speak  to  me  of  him!"  retorted 
Clara,  clouding  over.  *'When  Jack  called 
at  his  hotel  to  leave  a  card,  he  had  the  ef- 
frontery to  be  out.  Just  fancy,  and  we 
had  almost  sent  him  grapes! " 

"  But "  began  Mrs.  Penfield. 

Pierre  was  at  the  door;  one  hand  behind 
him  held  the  orchestra  in  check. 

"Madame  is  served,"  he  formed  his  lips 
to  say,  but  having  reached  "Madame,"  he 
found  himself  effaced  by  someone  entering 
hurriedly — a  tall  young  man  with  too  abun- 
dant hair  and  teeth,  but  otherwise  permis- 
sible. 

iThe  new  arrival  paused,  took  soundings, 
as  it  were,  divined  the  hostess,  and  advanced 

271 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

upon  her  wdtH  extended  hand.  Evidently 
it  was  one  of  those  amusing  Httle  incidents 
called  "  contretemps,"  which  often  happen 
where  front  doors  are  much  alike,  and  the 
people  on  the  left  have  odd  acquaintances. 

"I  trust  I  am  not  late,"  the  blunderer 
began  at  once.  *'  It  was  so  kind  of  you  to 
think  of  me ;  so  altogether  charming,  so  de- 
lightful." His  eyes  were  dark  and  keen, 
his  broad,  unsheltered  mouth,  which  seemed 
less  to  utter  than  to  manufacture  words, 
gave  the  impression  of  astonishing  produc- 
tive power,  and  Clara,  though  sorry  for  a 
fellow-creature  doomed  to  rude  enlighten- 
ment, was  glad  he  was  not  to  be  an  element 
in  her  well-ordered  little  dinner.  But  as 
her  guests  were  waiting  she  gave  a  slight 
impatient  flutter  to  her  fan.  The  other 
went  on  unobservant. 

"  One  can  say  so  little  of  one's  pleasure 
in  a  hurried  note,  but  I  assure  you,  my  dear 
Mrs.  Fessenden,  nothing  short  of  a  serious 
accident " 

Where  had  she  met  this  formula  before? 

*\0h,  Mr.  Hop  worthy!"  she  responded 

272 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

with  a  smile,  an  automatic  smile,  self -regu- 
lating and  self-adjusting,  like  the  phrase 
that  followed,  "  I  am  so  glad  you  were  ahle 
to  come."  And  turning  to  her  husband,  she 
announced,  too  sweetly  to  leave  her  state  of 
mind  in  doubt: 

"  Jack,  here  is  Mr.  Hop  worthy,  your 
aunt's  old  friend." 

With  her  eyes  she  added: 

"Fiend,  behold  your  work!" 

Jack  grasped  the  stranger's  hand  and 
wrung  it  warmly. 

"  I'm  glad  you're  out  again,"  he  said. 
"  Now  tell  my  wife  just  how  you  left  Aunt 
Bates,"  And  so  saying  he  backed  toward 
the  door,  for  he  could  be  resourceful  on 
occasion.  Two  minutes  later  when  he 
reappeared  his  face  was  wreathed  in 
smiles. 

"  It's  all  serene,"  He  whispered  to  his 
wife.  "  They  have  crowded  in  another 
place  at  your  end.  We'll  make  the  best  of 
it." 

Perhaps  it  occurred  to  Clara  that  things 
to    be    made    the    best   of    were    oftenest 

273 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP, 

crowded  in  at  her  end,  but  she  had  no  time 
to  say  so,  for  Pierre  had  come  into  his  own 
again — Madame  was  served. 

Jack  led,  of  course,  with  scintillescent 
Mrs.  Ballington,  he  having  flatly  refused 
to  take  in  the  Countess.  Jack's  point  of 
view  was  always  masculine,  and  often  ele- 
mentary. 

The  Countess  followed  with  a  Mr. 
Walker,  who  collected  eggs,  and  was  be- 
lieved to  have  been  born  at  sea,  which  made 
him  interesting  in  a  way.  Then  came 
Maude  Penfield,  preceding  Lena  Living- 
ston, according  to  the  tonnage  of  their  hus- 
bands' yachts.  In  truth,  the  whole  proces- 
sion gave  in  every  rank  new  evidence  of 
Clara's  kindly  forethought.  For  herself, 
she  had  not  only  the  Extraordinary,  but,  by 
perverse  fate,  another. 

"  Mr.  Hopworthy,"  she  explained,  bring- 
ing both  dimples  into  play,  "  a  very  charm- 
ing girl  has  disappointed  us.  I  hope  you 
don't  mind  walking  three  abreast." 

Clara's  imtruths  were  never  compromises. 

274 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

When  they  should  be  told,  she  told  them, 
scorning  to  keep  her  score  immaculate  by 
subterfuge.  "  Though  the  Recording  An- 
gel may  be  strict,"  she  often  said  with  child- 
like faith,  "  I  am  convinced  he  is  well-bred." 

The  pleasant  flutter  over  dinner  cards 
ended  as  it  should  in  each  guest  being  next 
the  persons  most  desired — each  guest,  but 
not  the  hostess.  For  Jack's  resourceful- 
ness having  accomplished  the  additional 
place,  stopped  short,  and  his  readjustment 
of  the  cards,  which  had  been  by  chance, 
had  brought  the  Envoy  upon  Clara's  left 
and  given  to  Mr.  Hopworthy  the  seat  of 
honor. 

For  a  moment  Clara  hesitated,  hoping 
against  hope  for  someone  to  be  taken  ill, 
for  almost  anything  that  might  create  an 
opportunity  for  a  change  of  cards.  But 
while  she  stood  in  doubt  the  diplomat 
most  diplomatically  sat  down.  Beyond  him 
the  Countess  was  already  drawing  off  her 
gloves  as  though  they  had  been  stockings, 
and  further  on  the  gentleman  born  at  sea 

275 


ON    aCHE    LIGHTSHIP 

seemed  pleased  to  find  his  dinner  roll  so  like 
an  egg. 

It  was  one  of  those  unrecorded  tragedies 
known  only  to  woman.  The  failures  of  a 
man  leave  ruins  to  bear  testimony  to  en- 
deavor; a  woman's  edifice  of  cobweb  falls 
without  commotion,  whatever  pains  its 
building  may  have  cost. 

"  I  gave  you  that  seat,"  said  Clara  to  the 
diplomat  in  dimpled  confidence,  "because 
the  window  on  the  other  side  lets  in  a  per- 
fect gale  of  draught." 

"  A  most  kind  draught  to  blow  me  nearer 
my  hostess's  heart,"  he  answered,  much  too 
neatly  not  to  have  said  something  of  the 
sort  before. 

Fortunately   botK   the   Envoy   and   the 

Countess  appreciated  oysters,  and  before  the 

soup  came,  Clara,  outwardly  herself  again, 

could  turn  a  smiling  face  to  her  unwelcome 

guest.    But  Mr.  Hopworthy  was  bending 

toward   Maude,   who    seemed   very   much 

amused.     So  was  the  man  between  them, 

and  so  were  several  others. 

276 


ON    T.HE    LIGHTSHIE 

Already  he  had  begun  to  make  himself 
conspicuous.  People  with  broad  mouths  al- 
ways make  themselves  conspicuous.  She 
felt  that  Maude  was  gloating  over  her  dis- 
comfiture. She  detected  this  in  every  note 
of  Maude's  well-modulated  laugh,  and  could 
an  interchange  of  beakers  with  the  stranger 
have  been  sure  of  Florentine  results,  Clara 
would  have  faced  a  terrible  temptation. 
As  it  was,  she  asked  the  Envoy  if  he  had 
seen  the  Automobile  Show. 

He  had,  and  by  good  luck  machinery  was 
his  favorite  topic,  a  safe  one,  leaving  little 
ground  for  argument.  From  machinery 
one  proceeds  by  certain  steps  to  things 
thereby  created,  silk  and  shoes  and  books, 
and  comes  at  length,  as  Clara  did,  to  silver- 
ware and  jewels,  pearls  and  emeralds.  And 
here  the  Countess,  who  mistrusted  terrapin, 
broke  in. 

She  had  known  an  emerald  larger  than  an 
egg — Mr.  Walker  looked  up  hopefully.  It 
had  been  laid  by  Royalty  at  the  feet  of 
Beauty — Mr.  Walker,  who  had  been  about 

277 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

to  speak,  resumed  his  research,  and  the 
Countess  held  the  floor. 

She  wore  a  bracelet  given  her  by  a  poten- 
tate, whose  title  suggested  snufF,  as  a  re- 
ward for  great  devotion  to  his  cause,  and 
its  exhibition  occupied  a  course. 

Meanwhile  the  hostess,  as  with  astral 
ears,  heard  snatches  of  the  conversation  all 
about  her. 

"  And  do  you  think  so  really,  Mr.  Hop- 
worthy?" 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Hop  worthy,  were  you  actually 
there?" 

"Please  tell  us  your  opinion " 

Evidently  Jack's  aunt's  acquaintance 
was  being  drawn  out,  encouraged  to  display 
himself,  made  a  butt  of,  in  point  of  fact! 
This  came  from  taking  Maude  Penfield 
into  her  confidence.  There  was  always  a 
streak  of  something  not  exactly  nice  in 
Maude.  As  Clara,  with  her  mind's  eye, 
saw  the  broad  Hopworthian  mouth  in  ac- 
tive operation,  she  felt — the  feminine  in- 
stinct  in   such   matters   is   unerring — that 

278 


ON  lXHE  lightship. 

Butler  Penfield  cherished  every  phrase  for 
future  retahation  at  the  club,  and  Lena 
Livingston,  who  never  laughed,  was  laugh- 
ing. After  all,  if  foreigners  are  often 
dull,  at  least  they  have  no  overmastering 
sense  of  humor. 

"  My  Order  of  the  Bull  was  given  me  at 
twenty-six,"  the  Envoy  was  relating,  and 
though  the  story  was  a  long  one,  Clara  lis- 
tened to  it  all  with  swimming  eyes. 

"  Diplomacy  is  full  of  intrigue  as  an  egg 
of  meat,"  it  ended,  and  once  more  Mr. 
Walker  looked  up  hopefully. 

Again  the  hostess  forced  herself  to  turn 
with  semblance  of  attention  to  her  right. 
But  Mr.  Hopworthy  did  not  appear  to  no- 
tice the  concession.  He  did  not  appear  to 
notice  anything.  He  w^as  haranguing,  ac- 
tually haranguing,  oblivious  that  all  within 
the  hearing  of  his  resonant  voice  regarded 
him  with  open  mockery.  Jack  in  the  dis- 
tance, too  far  aw^ay  to  apprehend  the  truth, 
exhibited  his  customary  unconcern,  for 
Jack's  ideals  were  satisfied  if  at  his  table 

279 


ON    ,THE    LIGHTSHIP, 

people  only  ate  enough  and  talked.  And 
perhaps  it  5vas  as  well  Jack  did  not  com- 
prehend. 

*'  To  illustrate,"  the  orator  was  saying — 
fancy  a  man  wKo  says  "to  illustrate." 
"  This  wine  is,  as  we  may  say,  dyophysitic  " 
— ^here  Mr.  Hopworthy  held  up  his  glass 
and  looked  about  him  whimsically — "  pos- 
sessed of  dual  potentialities  containing 
germs  of  absolute  antipathies — "  Even 
Jack,  could  he  have  heard,  must  have  re- 
sented the  suggestion  of  germs  in  his  cham- 
pagne. 

"Perhaps  you  would  rather  have  some 
Burgundy  with  your  duck,"  suggested 
Mrs.  Fessenden  with  heroic  fortitude,  and 
]Mr.  Hopworthy  checked  his  train  of 
thought  at  once. 

"  Aye,  Madam,"  he  rejoined,  "  there  you 
revive  an  ancient  controvers5^" 

"  I  am  sure  I  did  not  mean  to,"  Clara 
said  regretfully,  and  Mr.  Hopworthy 
smiled  his  most  open  smile. 

"  A  controversy,"  drawled  Lena  Living- 
ston, "how  very  odd!" 

280 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP. 

"  It  was  indeed,"  assented  Mr.  Hop- 
worthy,  and  went  on:  "Once,  as  you 
know,  the  poets  of  Reims  and  Beaune 
waged  war  in  verse  over  the  respective 
claims  of  the  blond  wine  and  the  brunette, 
and  so  bitter  grew  the  fight  that  several 
provinces  sprang  to  arms,  and  Louis  the 
Foiu-teenth  was  forced  to  go  to  war  to  keep 
the  peace." 

It  was  pure  malice  in  Maude  to  show  so 
marked  an  interest  in  a  statement  so  ab- 
surd, and  it  was  fiendish  in  the  rest  to  en- 
courage Mr.  Hopworthy.  Even  the  most 
insistent  talker  comes  in  time  to  silence  if 
nobody  listens. 

"  Oh,  M.  Hop — Hop — Hopgood,"  cried 
the  Countess,  "  if  you  are  a  savant,  perhaps 
you  know  my  Axel! " 

"  And  have  you  taken  out  a  patent  for 
your  axel?  "  asked  the  diplomat,  whose  mind 
reverted  to  mechanics. 

The  Countess  favored  him  witK  one 
glance  through  her  lorgnettes — a  present 
from  the  exiled  King  of  Crete — and 
straightway  took  her  bag  and  baggage  to 

281 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

the  hostile  camp.  For,  of  course,  the 
young  Count  Axel  was  known  to  Mr.  Hop- 
worthy,  or  at  least  he  so  declared. 

"  Please  tell  me  how  you  won  your  Or- 
der of  the  Bull,"  said  Clara  to  the  diplo- 
mat, her  one  remaining  hope. 

"  I  think  I  mentioned  that  just  now,"  he 
answered,  and  conversation  perished. 

And  thus  the  dinner  wore  away,  a  grim 
succession  of  demolished  triumphs.  When 
after  an  seon  or  two  Clara  gave  the  signal 
for  retreat,  she  sought  her  own  reflection  in 
the  glass  to  make  sure  her  hair  was  still 
its  normal  brown. 

"  Clara,"  said  Mrs.  Penfield,  when  the  la- 
dies were  alone,  "  you  might  at  least  have 
warned  us  whom  we  were  to  meet." 

Mrs.  Fessenden  drew  herself  erect.  Her 
breath  came  fast,  here  eyes  were  bright, 
and  she  had  nearly  reached  the  limit  of  for- 
bearance toward  Maude. 

*'  Mrs.  Penfield — "  she  began  with  dig- 
nity, but  Maude  broke  in. 

"  I  must  have  been  a  baby  not  to  have 
recognized  the  name." 

282 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

Clara  hesitated,  checking  the  word  upon 
her  hps,  for  with  her  former  friend,  to  be 
inelegant  was  to  be  sincere. 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  she  substituted 
prudently. 

"  To  think,  my  dear,  of  you  being  the 
first  of  us  to  capture  Horace  Hop  worthy 
and  keeping  it  from  me! "  cried  Maude. 

"  I  am  sure  I  mentioned  that  we  hoped  to 
have  him,"  murmured  JNIrs.  Fessenden. 

"  So  sweet  of  you  to  give  us  such  a  sur- 
prise, it  was  most  delightful,"  Lena  Living- 
ston drawled. 

"  Your  house  is  always  such  a  Joppa  for 
successful  genius,"  declared  Mrs.  Balling- 
ton,  "  or  is  it  Mecca?  I've  forgotten  which. 
How  did  you  come  to  know  he  was  in 
town? " 

"  Jack's  relatives  in  Boston  always  send 
us  the  most  charming  people  with  letters," 
answered  Clara.  "  Shall  we  take  coffee  on 
the  balcony?  The  men  are  laughing  so  in 
the  smoking-room  we  can't  talk  here  with 
anv  comfort." 

Later — an  hour  later — when  the  last  car- 

283 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

riage-door  had  slammed,  Jack  lit  a  cigarette 
and  said; 

"  That  Hoppy  fellow  seemed  to  make  a 
hit." 

Clara  yawned. 

"  Yes,  he  was  rather  a  fortunate  discov- 
ery," she  said,  "  but.  Jack,  we  really  ought 
to  take  a  literary  magazine," 


284 


THE  MAN  WITHOUT  A  PENSION 


THE  MAN  WITHOUT  A  PENSION 

E  was  a  dapper  little  man  with 
a  gray  pointed  beard,  and  he 
wore  knickerbockers  and  rus- 
set hunting  gaiters,  nearly  new. 
A  jaunty  Alpine  hat  was  perched  upon  his 
head,  and  as  he  pursued  his  cautious  way 
along  the  canon's  edge  it  would  be  hard  to 
fancy  anyone  less  in  touch  with  his  sur- 
roundings. He  seemed  uncertain  of  the 
trail,  mistrustful  of  himself,  or  unaccus- 
tomed to  mountain  atmosphere,  for  within 
the  last  hundred  yards  of  the  camp  he 
paused  in  every  dozen  steps  to  listen  or  to 
recover  breath. 

There  was  no  sound  anywhere  except 
the  moan  of  pine  trees,  and  no  motion  but 
the  perpetual  trembling  in  the  aspen  im- 
dergrowth.  The  greater  trees  nearly  met 
above  the  canon;  the  lesser  clung  along  its 
brink,  leaning  far  out  to  catch  the  sun  and 

287 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP. 

send  broken  lights  and  colors  to  the  water 
far  below.  Contrasting  with  the  unchang- 
ing twilight  and  boundless  solitude  of  the 
forest,  the  meadow  where  the  tents  were 
pitched  seemed  to  blaze  with  light,  and  the 
three  small  shelters  took  on  the  importance 
of  a  settlement,  whose  visible  inhabitants 
consisted  of  a  pair  of  mountain  magpies 
possessed  of  an  idle  spirit  of  investigation. 

The  little  man  coughed  a  dry  inadequate 
cough  to  herald  his  approach,  while  his  foot 
dislodged  a  pebble  which,  rattling  down  the 
canon,  sent  the  magpies  to  a  tree  top  in 
affected  terror.  From  under  the  shelter  of 
his  hand  he  cast  a  glance  about  the  camp 
which  mastered  its  small  array  of  unimpor- 
tant details ;  two  tents,  wide  open  to  the  air, 
disclosed  elementary  sleeping  quarters  for 
half  a  score  of  men,  coarse  blankets  cover- 
ing heaps  of  twigs  and  pine  needles,  the 
bare  necessities  of  a  bivouac.  The  third 
tent  was  closed. 

Evidently  perplexed,  the  visitor  stood 
still.    Had  anyone  been  watching  him,  say 

288 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP. 

from  behind  the  ragged  canvas  of  the  closed 
tent,  he  must  have  seemed  a  nervous,  ap- 
prehensive little  man.  There  came  a  sound 
which  might  have  been  a  derisive  chuckle 
and  might  have  been  a  magpie  in  the  trees. 
The  visitor  controlled  a  start  and  clenched 
his  hands  as  though  summoning  courage. 
Then  loudly  as  one  who  gives  a  challenge, 
he  shouted,  "Is  there  anybody  here?" 

The  voice  w^as  resonant  for  so  small  a 
body,  and  the  echoes  caught  the  last  word 
eagerly,  and  sent  it  back,  clear  from  the 
canon,  faint  from  where  the  snow  peaks  cut 
the  blue,  deep  from  the  hollow  of  the  tim- 
ber. "Here!  Here!"  as  though  a  scat- 
tered army  answered  to  a  roll  call.  Im- 
mediately there  followed  another  and 
louder  "  Here!  "  distinctly  not  an  echo,  and 
a  gruif  ungracious  laugh, 

rThe  multitude  of  answers  must  have  be- 
wildered the  stranger,  for  he  looked  every- 
where about  him,  almost  stupidly,  except 
toward  the  only  possible  hiding  place.  It 
needed  a  second  derisive  laugh  to  guide  him 

289 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

to  the  tent  whose  half-closed  flap  concealed 
the  only  custodian  of  the  camp,  a  man  so 
tall  that  in  his  little  shelter  he  gave  the  im- 
pression of  a  large  animal  inadequately 
caged  or  in  a  trap.  His  black  hair  fell  be- 
low the  ears;  his  jaws  were  hidden  by  a 
heavy  beard  cut  square,  through  some  freak 
of  fancy,  like  the  carved  beards  of  human- 
headed  Assyrian  beasts. 

"  Ahem!  I  beg  your  pardon,"  began  the 
little  man  after  another  cough. 

"  What  do  you  want?  "  returned  the  other 
without  looking  up.  He  bent  above  a  tin 
pan  of  dough,  kneading  the  pliant  stuff 
almost  fiercely,  with  red  knotted  knuckles 
and  sinewy  forearms. 

"  My  name,"  replied  the  visitor,  "  is 
Sands — Professor  Sands  of  Charbridge 
University." 

The  man  in  the  tent  rolled  his  dough  into 
a  cannon  ball  and  held  it  up  at  arm's 
length.  "  Sands,"  he  repeated.  "  Char- 
bridge  University? "  And  striking  his 
dough  with  his  palm  sts  though  it  could  ap- 

290 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

preciate  a  joke,  he  added,  *'  Well,  you  looK 
it!" 

He  wiped  his  hands  upon  a  strip  of  bur- 
lap bagging  which  served  him  as  apron,  and 
deliberately  surveyed  the  new  comer.  "  How 
did  you  ever  get  so  far  from  home  all  by 
yourself? "  he  asked  with  open  insolence. 
A  fuller  view  of  his  face  disclosed  incon- 
gruous tones  of  red  about  the  roots  of  hair 
and  beard,  and  a  long  scar  on  the  left 
cheek. 

**  I  am  connected  with  our  geological  ex- 
pedition," Professor  Sands  explained  con- 
cisely. "  We  are  camping  in  the  valley,  and 
this  morning  I  ventured  to  explore  the 
canon  on  my  own  account,  and  have  been 
tempted  farther  than  I  intended." 

The  large  man  put  his  hands  upon  his 
thighs  and  leaned  against  the  tent  pole.  *'  So 
that's  it?"  he  commented  patronizingly. 
'*Well,  if  I  was  you,  I'd  stick  to  camp, 
and  not  go  roaming  in  the  timber  where  you 
might  get  lost." 

"  Quite  so,"  the  little  man  assented  read- 

291 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

ily;  "but  I  was  told  I  should  surely  come 
upon  the  railway  survey  somewhere  in  the 
canon,  and  I  have  had  your  stakes  to  guide 
me.  The  engineers  are  doubtless  working 
somewhere  near  here?  "  he  added,  taking  off 
his  hat  to  cool  his  head  with  its  thin  gray 
hair. 

The  other  spat  and  eyed  his  visitor  with 
amused  contempt.  "  We  don't  lay  out  rail- 
roads sitting  round  the  fire,"  he  volunteered. 
"  The  boys  are  working  up  near  timber 
line,  and  won't  be  back  till  dark,  and  the 
teamster's  gone  to  Freedom  City  for  more 
grub." 

"Ah!"  remarked  the  scientist.  "Then 
we  are  quite  alone.  I'll  rest  a  little,  if  I 
may." 

He  deposited  an  army  haversack  that  he 

carried  slung  about  his  shoulder  upon  a  flat 

boulder  just  outside  the  tent  door  and  sat 

down  beside  it.    "  My  geological  specimens 

are  rather  heavy,"  he  went  on,  wiping  his 

brow.     "  With  your  permission  I  should 

292 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

like  to  label  them  before  I  forget  their  iden- 
tity." 

The  other,  with  his  hands  in  his  overall 
pockets,  took  a  slouching  step  beyond  the 
tent  to  overlook  the  sack's  contents  as  they 
appeared — a  small  steel  sorting  hammer,  a 
heap  of  broken  bits  of  float,  and  a  large 
flask  with  a  silver  top.  He  watched  the 
geologist  sort  his  specimens  with  an  idle  in- 
terest mingled  with  contempt — for  the 
trade  he  did  not  understand,  for  the  spot- 
less handkerchief,  for  the  physical  weak- 
ness of  the  man  himself. 

"  I  suppose  that's  some  sort  of  acid 
you've  got  in  your  bottle?"  he  speculated 
presently. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon? "  asked  the  profes- 
sor, absorbed  in  his  work ;  then  added  as  the 
question's  meaning  reached  him,  "  Ah,  the 
flask?  No,  that  contains  whiskej^  I  always 
carry  a  supply  in  case  of  accident."  Whis- 
tling softly,  he  marked  another  specimen, 

ignoring  his  host's  nearer  approach. 

29s 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"Partner,"  tHe  latter  suggested,  "If 
you'd  like  a  bite  to  eat,  you've  only  got  to 
say  so.    That's  mountain  manners." 

The  professor  glanced  up  now  and  with 
an  odd  intentness  in  his  look;  no  doubt  his 
mind  was  still  with  his  specimens.  "  You're 
very  kind,  I'm  sure,"  he  responded  courte- 
ously; "but  I  have  lunched  already  on  my 

sandwiches.     Thank   you,   Mr. "     He 

paused  for  a  name. 

The  other  chuckled  with  new-found  amia- 
bility. "You  needn't  *  Mister'  me,"  he 
said.  "  I'm  Budd,  Jim  Budd  the  Scorcher, 
and  if  any  man  in  camp  don't  like  my 
grub  he's  got  the  privilege  of  going  hun- 
gry." 

"  Ah,  quite  so,  quite  so,"  rejoined  the 
scientist.  "I'm  very  sure  your  cooking  is 
excellent." 

"  That's  what  the  boys  tell  me,"  returned 
the  scorcher;  "but,  by  blood!  I've  got  'em 
educated.  Ill  just  set  them  biscuits  to 
raise,  and  then  we'll  have  a  chat."  He  re- 
entered the  tent,  limping  noticeably,  and 

294 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

from  the  interior  his  voice  was  heard 
mingled  with  the  clatter  of  utensils  in  blas- 
phemous denunciation  of  everything  about 
him.  During  this  explosion  the  scientist 
from  Charbridge  made  a  rather  singular 
experiment. 

He  rose,  and  after  a  cautious  glance  be- 
hind him  he  crept  to  the  verge  of  the  preci- 
pice, looked  down  into  the  water  swirling 
over  jagged  rocks  far  below,  and  pulling 
up  a  sod  of  wire  grass  let  it  drop,  and 
watched  it  sink  and  reappear  in  single 
straws  that  circled  and  sank  again.  This 
done,  he  went  back  to  his  specimens. 

The  Scorcher's  pibrock  of  vituperation 
had  now  changed  to  a  tuneless  chant, 
scarcely  less  vindictive  in  its  cadence: 

Old  John  Rogers  was  burnt  at  the  stake; 
His  poor  wife  cried  until  her  heart  did  break! 

he  sang,  and  the  professor's  listening  face 
took  on  an  expression  out  of  keeping  with 
the  meaningless  doggerel,  the  look  of  one 
who  responds  to  an  inexorable  call. 

295 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"  *  Until  her  heart  did  break! '  "  he  mur- 
mured. But  when  Budd  appeared  again 
he  only  asked  if  he  was  interested  in  geol- 
ogy. 

"  I  am  if  it's  the  sort  that's  got  silver  in 

it,"  replied  the  cook. 

*'  One  does  not  look  for  silver  in  sand- 
stone formation,"  the  professor  explained. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  the  Almighty 
couldn't  put  silver  in  this  here  red  rock?" 
Jim  demanded,  from  the  stone  on  w-hich  he 
had  seated  himself. 

"No,"  replied  the  professor  guardedly: 
"  I  say  only  that  He  did  not.  However, 
here  is  a  bit  of  quartz " 

"Say!"  interrupted  the  cook,  "I'm  a 
heap  more  interested  in  the  specimen  you've 
got  in  that  bottle."  He  was  staring  at  the 
polished  cap  of  the  flask. 

"Indeed,  are  you?"  the  other  smiled  a 
a  tolerant  smile.  "  Then  perhaps  you  will 
do  me  the  honor " 

Budd  seized  the  flask  without  a  second 
invitation  and  raised  it  to  his  lipsv     He? 

2-96 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

drank  as  dying  men  drink  water,  and  when 
he  stopped  for  lack  of  breath  his  face  was 
fiery  but  for  the  white  scar.  As  he  lowered 
the  bottle  he  met  the  professor's  curious 
fixity  of  gaze,  and  wriggled  uneasily  be- 
fore it. 

"Say,  partner,"  he  remonstrated,  "  your 
w^hiskey's  all  right ;  but  I'm  hanged  if  I  Hke 
your  eye!    By  blood!  it  goes  ag'in  me!" 

"Ivbegyour  pardon,"  said  the  professor 
without  averting  his  look.  "  I  have  the 
habit  of  close  observation.  And,"  he  prof- 
fered the  flask  afresh,  "the  more^you  drink 
of  that,  the  less  I'll  have  to  carry  home." 

Budd  poured  a  generous  portion  into  a 
tin  cup  and  stared  reflectivel}^  at  the  bright 
cap.  His  next  remark,  mellowed  by 
whiskey,  had  a  genial  candor.  "  Say!  if  I'd 
a  popped  you  over,  as  I  had  a  mind  to  when 
you  came  along  the  trail,  just  think  what 
I'd  a  missed!" 

"And  so  you  had  a  mind  to  pop  me 
over?"  queried  the  other.  "May  I  ask 
why? "     Having  finished  his  labeling,  he 

297 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

was  at  leisure  to  regard  his  companion  still 
more  closely. 

"  There's  fellers  prowling  in  the  timber 
I  ain't  got  no  use  for,"  the  cook  explained, 
drinking.  "But  you're  all  right!  You 
haven't  got  a  cigar  handy,  now,  have 
you?" 

The  scientist  was  well  supplied,  and  as 
the  cook  bit  off  the  end  of  a  large  and 
black  cigar  he  sighed  with  satisfaction. 

"  I  get  the  horrors  sometimes,"  he  ex- 
plained. "  I  get  as  scary  as  a  cottontail. 
Them  quaking  asps  is  enough  to  drive  a 
feller  crazy,  anyhow." 

"  There's  nothing  like  a  little  whiskey  in 
such  cases,"  remarked  the  professor,  filling 
the  extended  cup. 

"  If  this  keeps  up,  one  of  us  is  liable  to 
get  drunk,"  remarked  Budd.  "  That's  a 
handy  flask  of  yours.  Come  all  the  way 
from  New  York? " 

"  From  Richmond,  I  believe,"  responded 
the  other.  "  My  brother  found  it  on  a  bat- 
tle field  and  sent  it  home  to  me." 

298 


6i 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"  I  take  it  you  wasn't  there  yourself,"  the 
Scorcher  chuckled. 

"  No,"  said  Professor  Sands.  "  I  was  in 
bad  health  at  the  time." 

So  was  a  lot  of  others,"  sneered  Budd. 
I  wasn't  feeling  what  you  might  call  well 
myself;  but  I  stuck  to  it  till  they  biffed  me 
in  the  leg — the  hounds! — and  put  me  out 
of  business." 

"  Of  course,  you  draw  a  pension,"  ven- 
tured the  professor. 

"  No,"  said  the  cook,  "  I  never  asked  for 
no  pension.  They've  given  one  to  about 
every  feller  what  wasn't  dead  when  the  war 
broke  out,  but  there  hasn't  been  a  bill  passed 
yet  that  takes  me  in." 

"  Indeed?  "  His  listener  was  politely  ob- 
servant. 

"  Yes,  that's  the  truth,"  went  on  the  cook. 
"  I  declare  I  feel  real  dopy  or  dotty  or 
something.  They  pensioned  every  beat  that 
came  back  with  a  knapsack  full  of  rebel 
watches,  but  they  left  out  old  Jim.  He 
don't  wear  no  medals;  he  don't  parade  on 

299 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

Decoration  Day  to  scatter  posies;  he  don't 
get  no  free  beer  while  the  band  plays 
*  Georgia ' — '  Hurrah  for  the  flag  that 
makes  us  free ! ' "  he  chanted  hoarsely. 
"Hurrah  for  the  Devil!  that's  what  I 
say.     Hurrah  for  the  man  without  a  pen- 

sion! 

"You  interest  me,"  interposed  Profes- 
sor Sands. 

"Oh,  do  I?"  cried  the  cook.  "By 
blood!  I've  half  a  mind  to  interest  you 
more.  But  don't  look  at  me  like  that — I 
tell  you,  I  don't  like  your  eye! "  He  tried 
to  shield  himself  from  that  unmoved  gaze. 
"You're  interested,  are  you?  You'd  like 
to  put  my  case  before  your  influential 
friends  back  East?  You  with  j^our  little 
bag  of  rocks  and  your  little  hammer  and 
your  gloves!  Did  you  ever  in  your  life  see 
anyone  who  wasn't  a  nickel-plated  angel? 
Did  you  ever  run  across  a  real  live  black- 
guard out  of  a  story  paper?  Did  you  ever 
see  a  man  who  couldn't  show  his  face  in 

a  settlement  by  the  light  of  day,  and  had 

aoo 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

to  take  up  any  job  that  kept  him  out  of 
sight?  I  don't  know  why,  but  I've  got  to 
shoot  my  mouth  off  now  if  it  hangs  me. 
I've  got  to  blab  or  go  stark  mad!" 

"  I  understand,"  said  the  professor. 

"  I  was  one  of  them  patriots,"  Budd  went 
on,  speaking  almost  mechanically,  as  though 
hypnotized,  "who  enlisted  for  the  boodle 
and  then  skipped  out  to  work  the  racket 
somewhere  else." 

"  In  point  of  fact,  a  bounty  jumper,"  his 
listener  put  in. 

"  Yes,"  agreed  the  cook,  "  that's  what  I 
was.  They  were  paying  three  hundred  gold 
for  likely  men  to  go  down  South  and  head 
off  bullets,  and  that  beat  getting  drafted, 
so  I  joined.  Oh,  those  were  great  old  days, 
great  old  days! " 

How  long  were  you  in  the  service?" 
About  an  hour  and  a  quarter  the  first 
time,"  Budd  replied.  "  It  happened  in 
New  York,  and  when  I'd  signed  the  roll 
they  put  me  in  a  squad  to  march  off  some- 
where to  get  our  uniforms.     The  sergeant 

SOI 


(( 


(( 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

was  a  tall  guy,  greener  than  spinach,  who'd 
drifted  down  from  Maine  a  week  before, 
and  didn't  know  no  more  about  New  York 
than  a  bull  calf  knows  about  the  New  Je- 
rusalem; but  he  made  a  bluff  and  asked 
the  feller  next  me,  whose  name  was  Butch, 
to  give  him  points  at  every  corner.  Well, 
Butch  directed,  and  His  Nibs  kept  on  com- 
manding '  Column  left ! '  and  '  Column 
right ! '  till  we  got  down  to  the  toughest  sort 
of  a  district — gas  works  and  lumber  yards 
and  such.  I  didn't  know  the  game,  but  I 
dropped  to  it  quick  enough  when  Butch 
says  in  a  whisper,  *  Here's  our  chance ! '  and 
it  happened  to  be  the  neatest  chance  a  new 
beginner  ever  had.  You  see,  in  those  days 
when  there  was  a  fire  pretty  near  everybody 
was  welcome  to  catch  hold  and  help  pull 
the  machine,  and  there  was  always  a  crowd 
that  come  along  to  holler  and  keep  up  the 
excitement.  Well,  that's  the  sort  of  outfit 
we  come  up  against.  They  filled  the  whole 
street,  yelling  and  pushing,  and  a  feller 
either  had  to  turn  and  run  with  them  or  get 


(C 


OlSr    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

knocked  down.  I  didn't  stop  to  see  what 
became  of  the  balance  of  the  squad.  I 
sloped  up  one  street  and  down  another,  go- 
ing like  a  jack  rabbit,  till  I  found  m^^self 
before  a  ferry  boat.  I  paid  my  fare  and 
crossed  the  river,  just  to  get  a  chance  to 
think." 

Quite  so,"  the  professor  sympathized. 

I  never  meant  no  harm,"  the  cook  pro- 
tested— "not  then.  There  wouldn't  have 
been  much  sense  in  going  back,  especially 
when  there  were  other  recruitins^  offices 
right  there  in  Jersey  City.  I  got  another 
three  hundred,  but  my  new  sojer  clothes 
was  spoiled  when  I  fell  off  the  transport 
in  the  dark  the  night  before  we  sailed — 
and  got  drownded.  Oh,  it  was  easy  enough 
those  days,  before  a  lot  of  duffers  took  to 
the  business.  But  it  got  so  arter  awhile  that 
we  professionals  had  to  keep  away  from 
cities  and  play  the  country  stations — Citi- 
zens' Committees,  Women's  Aid  Associa- 
tions, and  the  substitute  racket.  Sometimes 
I  did  the  farmer  boy  with  cowhide  boots 

303 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

and  hayseed  in  my  hair,  and  told  about  the 
mortgage  on  the  old  place,  and  the  kid  that 
was  expected;  and  there  wasn't  anything 
they  wouldn't  do  so  I  could  leave  the  folks 
comfortable  when  I  went  off  to  the  war. 
Oh,  those  were  great  times.  In  one  day, 
out  the  next! " 

"  And — and  was  the  getting  out  as 
easy?"  his  hearer  asked. 

"Not  quite,"  Budd  admitted;  "but 
pretty  near.  Say  you  were  at  a  camp  of 
instruction;  then  it  might  be  a  pass,  or  a 
little  something  to  the  sentry,  or  a  brick- 
bat in  the  dark,  if  you  could  throw  straight. 
I  gave  a  feller  fifty  to  let  me  through  once, 
and  then  the  sucker  peached  on  me,  the  low- 
down  sneak !  But  I  got  even  with  him  later 
on.  So  I  went  marching  out  of  Philadel- 
phia with  the  band  playing  and  the  women 
crying  and  the  men  what  was  too  delicate 
to  go  themselves  singing  out  '  God  bless 
you,  boys ! '  I  tell  you  what,  professor,  for 
a  moment  I  come  pretty  near  to  wishing  I 
was  playing  square." 

304 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"A  passing  sentiment,  I'm  sure,"  said 
the  geologist. 

"Sure!"  cried  Budd,  delighted  with  his 
hearer's  sympathy.  "  I'd  like  to  see  the 
sentiment  that  would  hold  out  after  a 
couple  of  nights  building  intrenchments  in 
the  rain.  How  could  I  help  it  if  when  the 
sentry's  back  was  turned  the  pick  flew  out 
of  my  hand  and  clipped  him  right  behind 
the  ear?  It  was  the  same  cuss  who  had 
blocked  my  game  the  week  before." 

"Good!"  laughed  the  professor. 

"  He  dropped,"  w^ent  on  the  cook,  "  and 
that  was  all  I  wanted.  I  lit  out  and  lay 
around  in  barns  and  corn  cribs,  living  on 
raw  carrots  and  what  eggs  I  found  in  the 
straw,  till  I  guessed  they  must  be  tired 
looking  for  me,  and  then  one  morning  early 
I  crept  out  and  scared  an  old  black  aunty 
who  was  feedin'  chickens  into  fits.  But  I 
reckon  I  wasn't  the  first  strange  bird  she'd 
seen  that  summer,  for  she  fed  me,  and  that 
night  she  steered  me  to  a  friend  of  hers  who 
was  in  the  clothing  business  and  did  a  little 

305 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

bartering  evenings.  He  charged  a  hundred 
for  a  suit  of  hand-me-downs  and  twenty 
for  a  hair  cut  and  a  shave — we  enlisters 
never  argued  over  trifles — and  shipped  me 
back  to  Pennsylvania.  Eut  maybe  you 
won't  believe  it — by  that  time  I  had  sorter 
lost  my  nerve.  I  got  a  notion  in  my  head 
that  every  man  who  looked  my  way  was 
spying  on  me.  I  couldn't  pass  the  time  of 
day  with  anyone  who  didn't  seem  to  talk 
about  deserters.  I  was  afraid  to  get  a  gold 
piece  changed,  for  all  the  gold  w^nt  out  of 
sight  about  that  time,  and  just  to  have  one 
was  suspicious.  So  what  do  you  think  I 
did?  I  walked  right  into  a  recruiting  sta- 
tion and  enlisted  without  getting  a  cent. 
*  Rah  for  the  flag ! '  I  says.  '  Gimme  a 
gun.  I  want  to  fight.'  That  was  in  Pitts- 
burgh." 

The  professor's  start  was  too  slight  to 
break  the  narrative,  but  if  possible  his 
watchfulness  deepened;  he  leaned  forward 
and  his  eyes  held  those  of  Budd. 

"  Yes,"  the  cook  continued,   "  in  Pitts- 

306 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

burgh.  Same  old  band;  same  old  handker- 
chiefs waving;  same  old  '  God  bless  you, 
boys!'  I  thought  at  first  I  was  all  right 
and  'twould  be  the  same  old  game,  but  it 
wasn't.  They  had  me  spotted  with  a  lot  of 
others,  and  they  kept  us  guarded  like  a  par- 
cel of  wild  beasts,  for  all  we  was  enlisted 
regular  in  the  120th  Pennsylvania." 

"The  120th  Pennsylvania?"  repeated 
the  professor  slowly. 

"  That's  what  I  said!  "  Budd  resented  the 
interruption.  "And  I  tell  you  it  was  no 
way  to  treat  men.  There  must  have  been 
forty  of  us  shut  up  in  a  baggage  car  with 
no  light  or  air  but  from  one  door  open  at 
the  end,  and  there  we  was  for  days  and 
nights,  and  a  tough  lot,  too!  Bounty  men 
and  substitutes  and  drafted  truck,  slam- 
ming along  to  the  front,  cussing  our  luck, 
and  everyone  of  us  ready  to  bolt  at  the  first 
chance.  I  stood  it  till  I  heard  the  guns 
roaring  like  sin,  not  five  miles  off.  Say, 
did  you  ever  hear  that  sound?  Did  you 
ever  hear  a  gun  you  knew  was  fired  at  real 

307 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

men  and  sending  them  to  Kingdom  Come? 
I  heard  it  once,  and  that  was  enough.  We 
was  laying  flat  along  the  floor,  side  by  side 
as  though  we  was  dead  already,  and  next 
me  was  a  German-looking  guy,  what  had 
been  praying  and  swearing,  turn  about, 
ever  since  we  started.  When  he  heard  the 
firing,  he  went  clean  off  his  nut;  he'd  have 
blown  his  brains  out  rather  than  take  the 
chance  of  letting  somebody  else  do  it  for 
him;  he'd  have  fought  the  Union  army 
single-handed  sooner  than  listen  to  them 
shots  another  minute*  Well,  to  make  sb 
long  story  short,  him  and  me  we  fixed  up 
a  scheme." 

The  speaker  caught  his  breath  to  listen, 
for  the  forest  seemed  suddenly  alive  with 
sound  and  motion.  A  cloud  swept  down  the 
valley  of  the  North  Fork,  so  low  that  shreds 
of  scud  were  caught  in  the  topmost 
branches.  Hail  pattered  on  the  w^ire  grass. 
iThe  tent  curtains  flapped  noisily,  and  in 
the  shadow  the  aspen  leaves  flashed  white 
as  though  a  mailed  army  sprang  from  am- 
busK. 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

"Go  on!"  the  professor  urged,  and  the 
cook  held  up  a  brawny  fist  and  shook  it 
at  the  universe  defiantly. 

"  I'll  tell  it  now,"  he  cried,  "  and  all  the 
winds  that  ever  ble^vr  sha'n't  shout  me  down ! 
Here's  how  it  was."  He  faltered,  and  the 
professor  prompted  him. 

"  There's  where  you  lay,"  he  said,  making 
a  gesture  to  indicate  the  ranks  of  trembling 
men. 

"There's  where  we  lay,"  Budd  echoed 
dully. 

"  And  there  was  the  door,"  said  the  pro- 
fessor softly.  He  pointed  to  a  tree  at  the 
canon's  brink. 

"Yes,  yes! "  cried  Budd,  "  there  was  the 
door.  The  platform  was  outside,  and  there 
were  two  on  guard.  I  was  to  spring  out 
first — so,"  he  jumped  up — "  and  tackle  the 
one  farthest  off.  The  Dutchman  was  to 
grab  the  other  from  behind.  Mine  was  a 
stout  young  feller." 

"A  stout  young  fellow,"  repeated  the 
professor. 

"  Yes,"  and  the  cook  stood  motionless  as 

S09 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

though  some  vision  rose  before  him.  "  I 
can  see  him  now,  with  straight  back  and 
crisp  curly  brown  hair." 

"  A  httle  curly,"  murmured  the  other. 

"Percy,  they  called  him,"  said  Budd. 

"Percy?"  echoed  the  professor,  "You 
are  sure  it  was  Percy?" 

"Sure  as  you're  sitting  there!"  cried 
Budd.  " '  Keep  your  eyes  open,  Percy, 
they're  a  bad  lot.'  That's  what  the  corporal 
told  him  when  he  went  on  guard.  Lord! 
but  it  was  a  pity!"  He  chuckled  inanely, 
swaying  on  his  feet. 

"What  then?"  inquired  the  man  from 
Charbridge,  rising  slowly. 

Budd  cowered  before  his  questioner's 
eyes  as  he  might  have  cowered  when  those 
long  silent  guns  were  booming  had  the  tall 
young  fellow  turned, 

"Nothing!"  he  muttered  sullenly. 
"Nothing,  so  help  me  God!  I  didn't 
do  it." 

"You  lie!"  retorted  tHe  small  man 
quietly. 

Budd  laughed  a  foolish  laugK.  "  There's 

sio 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP 

where  we  lay,"  he  babbled,  "  just  where 
your  foot  is,  me  and  the  Dutchman  and  the 
balance  of  us,  and  here  was  the  door " 

He  lurched  toward  the  aspen  tree  and 
laid  a  hand  upon  its  trunk  to  keep  from 
falling.  The  professor  followed  and  stood 
close  behind. 

"What  do  you  want?"  cried  Budd, 
wheeling  in  sudden  panic. 

"  To  learn  the  manner  of  my  brother's 
death,"  the  other  answered  between  lips 
that  scarcely  moved. 

The  voice  of  the  pines  was  like  the  rumble 
of  a  railway  train ;  the  winds  boomed  down 
from  timber  line  like  thunders  of  artillery; 
the  hailstones  struck  the  aspens'  leaves  like 
bullets,  and  over  all  the  laugh  of  Budd 
rang  in  maniacal  mirth. 

The  professor  held  his  eye  steadily;  then 
abruptly:  "Turn  out  the  guard  I"  he 
shouted. 

"  Choke  him,  you  big  Dutch  fool! "  Budd 
called  back  in  response,  as  with  his  bare 
arms  he  grappled  with  an  invisible  adver- 
sary. 

^11 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIE 

He  of  the  straight  back  and  curly  hair 
had  been  a  strong  young  fellow,  but,  taken 
unawares,  the  contest  was  bound  to  go 
against  him.  Once,  it  seemed,  he  had 
brought  Budd  to  his  knees;  once  he  had 
nearly  hurled  him  from  the  rocking  car; 
but  his  knapsack  must  have  hampered  him, 
and  his  musket  and  heavy  cartridge  box. 
The  bounty  jumper  fought  in  silence  and 
with  desperate  method,  gaining  advantage 
every  moment;  while  one  hand  pinioned  a 
phantom  forearm,  the  other  closed  with 
murderous  clutch  upon  a  ghostly  throat'. 
Meanwhile  the  professor  stood  by  with 
folded  arms  watching  critically,  one  would 
have  thought  impartially. 

It  was  over  presently,  and  Budd  stood 
breathing  hard.     Then — 

"Jump  for  your  life!"  commanded  the 
professor. 

Without  an  instant's  hesitation,  Budd 
crept  to  the  canon's  brink  and  peered  be- 
low* 


ON    THE    LIGHTSHIP. 

"  All  right!  "  he  whispered.  "  Good-by, 
Dutch!    We're  free!" 

And  with  a  last  grasp  of  the  aspen  tree 
he  swung  himself  across  the  edge  and 
dropped. 

The  boys  were  mad  enough  to  find  no 
supper  ready  when  they  came  from  timber 
line ;  but  not  surprised,  for  Budd  was  never 
one  to  give  long  notice  when  he  changed  his 
habitation.  And  if  somewhere  on  a  high 
shelf  in  an  Eastern  university — not  Char- 
bridge,  by  the  way — there  is  still  a  cube  of 
red  rock  labeled  "  North  Fork  Canon,"  it 
is  the  only  memorial  left  of  the  man  with- 
out a  pension. 


THE  END 


By  The  Same  Author 

The  INN  of  the  SILVER  MOON 
Pictures  by  Cucuel 
;^i.25  Postpaid 


SOME   OPINIONS 

Decidedly  lively,  agreeable  and  amusing. — The 

Outlook. 

It  is  a  fanciful  bit  of  writing,  full  of  charm  and 
humor. — The  Bookman, 

A  prettier  idyll  of  a  summer's  day  it  would  be 
difficult  to  find. — Chicago  Times-Herald. 

It  is  told  in  a  charmingly  fresh  way^  and  will 
prove  attractive  to  tired  readers. — St.  Paul  Globe. 

Mr.  Viele  is  gracefully  nimble,  dainty,  and  artistic. 
In  fact,  he  has  produced  a  book  successful  in  every 
way. — New  York  Tribune. 

Mr.  Viele  has  given  us  as  light  and  dainty,  as 
delightful  and  satisfying  a  bit  of  humorous  writing 
as  has  been  penned. — Baltimore  Sun. 

Although  the  whole  book  has  practically  nothing 
to  do  with  actual  life,  it  now  and  then  touches  the 
fringes  adroitly  and  with  distinction. — London 
Academy. 

The  writer  is  to  be  congratulated  on  a  successful 
and  thoroughly  wholesome  bit  of  fun. — London 
4thenceum. 


In  the  **Inn  of  the  Silver  Moon"  Mr.  Herman 
K.  Vide  has  written  a  piece  of  Hght  comedy  so 
thoroughly  good  that  it  ought  to  win  for  him  a 
strong  reputation.  ...  A  very  clever  and  finished 
little  book. — The  Baltimore  Herald. 

This  is  a  delicious  little  extravaganza.  ...  A 
series  of  the  maddest,  merriest  adventures.  It  is 
brimful  of  innocent  fun  .  .  .  carried  off  with  a 
spirit  and  gaiety  that  make  it  very  taking  ...  all 
admirably  innocent  and  fresh  in  tone. — New  York 
Globe. 

Through  all  the  fun  and  frolic  of  the  story  runs 
a  thread  of  idyllic  sentiment,  too  elusive  for  a  name, 
but  which  adds  a  touch  producing  something  very 
near  perfection.  Whoever  misses  reading  this  play- 
idyll  will  miss  one  real  pleasure  which  it  is  possible 
for  a  book  to  give. — Albany  Argus. 

"The  Inn  of  the  Silver  Moon"  brings  the  reader 
into  an  enchanted  sphere  ...  it  is  a  land  of  swift 
action  and  unconventional  travel  and  a  very  pleasing 
one.  The  chief  characters  are  two  of  the  most 
agreeable  young  persons,  with  whom  we  are  sorry 
to  part  at  the  close  of  their  dainty  adventure. — Hart- 
ford Courant. 

We  do  not  hesitate  to  call  "The  Inn  of  the  Silver 
Moon"  an  entertaining  and  artistically  told  tale. 
.  .  .  This  author  has  read  his  Stevenson  and  has 
remembered  him — and  this  shall  not  be  counted  to 
him  for  a  reproach.  For  here  is  a  light-hearted  tale 
that  Stevenson  himself  might  have  enjoyed. — New 
York  Sun. 

A  bright  little  extravaganza  in  which  is  no  at- 
tempt at  probability  or  reason;  so  we  smile  at 
romantic  impossibilities  and  enjoy  the  farce. — 
London   Vanity  Fair. 


The  book  is  like  a  spring  in  an  Arizona  desert 
— if  there  could  be  such  a  thing  in  an  Arizona 
desert — like  the  face  of  a  friend  in  a  strange  city — 
like  land  after  a  long  sea  voyage.  It  can  be  read 
in  two  hours.  It  is  delightful  to  weary  souls  tired 
with  much  reading. — Chicago  American. 

"The  Inn  of  the  Silver  Moon"  is  as  merry  a  little 
extravaganza  as  a  bored  reader  could  wish.  It 
relates  the  adventures  of  two  young  French  persons 
who  have  surreptitiously  imbibed  the  ''American 
idea"  through  American  romances.  The  youth  de- 
clares that,  "beneath  the  exterior  of  a  provincial 
rentier  may  lurk  the  spirit  of  Uncas,  the  Last  of  the 
Mohicans."  The  young  girl's  confession  is  that, 
after  reading  Howells,  smuggled  into  her  convent, 
"the  insidious  poison  of  confidence  in  mankind  has 
entered  my  blood,  and  that  I  shall  never  know  again 
the  sweet  suspicion  and  mistrust  of  my  earlier  years." 
Chance  throwing  these  emancipated  spirits  together 
into  a  tangle  of  predicament,  it  requires  the  clever- 
ness of  both  to  bring  them  to  a  safe  harbor,  which  is 
accomplished  in  a  delightfully  comic  fashion.  One 
agreeable  innovation,  among  many,  upon  the  usual 
scheme  of  such  stories  is  the  refreshing  recklessness 
with  which  embarrassments  are  sloughed,  never  to 
reappear.  We  are  spared  that  tiresome,  "And  now 
to  return  to  the  dragon,"  which  has  cast  a  gloom 
over  many  funny  si^etchts.— Evening  Post,  New 
York. 

The  humor  is  so  fresh,  the  ideas  so  novel,  the 
handling  so  Hght  and  dexterous,  that  the  reader 
finds  himself  enchanted  by  the  spontaneity  of  this 
engaging  little  sketch. — London  Daily  Graphic. 


HEARTBREAK  HILL 

It  is  with  a  sense  of  keen  personal  loss  that  we 
chronicle  the  death  of  Herman  Knickerbocker  Viele, 
which  took  place  in  New  York  City  on  the  14th  of 
last  December.  In  thinking  of  him  as  a  man  we 
remember  a  kindly,  courteous  gentleman  who  pos- 
sessed to  a  rare  degree  the  gift  of  inspiring  and 
retaining  friendships.  As  a  writer  he  stood  essentially 
for  many  things  that  we  are  unfortunately  too  prone 
to  ignore  in  this  swiftly  moving  day.  He  possessed 
style  and  he  possessed  charm.  Of  how  many  others 
can  we  say  the  same.''"  was  the  brief  but  felicitous 
comment  of  a  distinguished  novelist  and  playwright 
when  the  news  of  Mr.  Viele' s  death  was  brought  to 
a  club  of  which  he  had  been  a  member.  And  no 
one  who  has  read  **The  Inn  of  the  Silver  Moon,'* 
''Myra  of  the  Pines,"  "The  Last  of  the  Knicker- 
bockers," or  the  recently  published  *'  Heartbreak 
Hill"  will  be  inclined  to  doubt  the  justice  of  this 
verdict.  —  The  Bookviaii^  N.  Y. 


cc 


Heartbreak  Hill,"  in  fine,  is  a  charming  tissue 
of  attractive  improbabilities,  leavened  with  some 
shrewd  observation,  and  handled  with  the  lightness 
of  touch  which  one  naturally  expects  from  the  author 
of  *'The  Inn  of  the  Silver  Moon."  If  any  of  our 
readers  are  disappointed  with  Mr.  Viele' s  new  book, 
they  should  be  grateful  for  being  reminded  of  or  in- 
troduced to  its  predecessor. — The  Spectator,  London, 

Herman  Knickerbocker  Viele,  whether  he  knows 
it  or  not,  fills  a  long-felt  want,  the  desire  of  the 
reading  public  for  well-told,  interesting  and  refresh- 
ing stories  all  about  those  good  things, — love,  adven- 
ture and  money,  with  the  play  and  sparkle  of  every- 
day American  life,  at  its  best,  over  the  whole, — 
Philadelphia  Telegraph, 


By  the  Same  Author 


The  Last  of  the 
Knickerbockers 


A  Comedy-Romance 


$1.50  Postpaid 


SOME  OPINIONS 

Those  who  remember  that  dainty  little  fantasy  "  The 
Inn  of  the  Silver  Moon,"  will  greet  this  new  story  by  the 
same  author  with  pleasure ;  while  those  who  have  it  still 
to  enjoy  have  two  pleasures  in  store. — Philadelphia 
Times. 

In  "  The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers "  Herman 
Knickerbocker  Yiele  gives  a  further  extension  to  the 
method  and  spirit  shown  in  "  The  Inn  of  the  Silver 
Moon."  His  present  field  is  not  provincial  France, 
but  New  York  City,  yet  the  ethereal  humor  and  fan- 
tastic charm  of  the  first  book  are  fully  manifested  in 
the  second.  He  throws  over  the  rather  repellent  form 
of  the  Eastern  metropolis  such  a  diaphanous  tissue  of 
fancy,  legend  and  old-time  sentiment  as  only  an  artist 
thoroughly  in  sympathy  with  his  theme  can  weave. — 
Evening  Post,  Chicago. 

To  invest  a  story  of  the  passing  hour,  and  scenes  in 
which  we  take  our  daily  walks,  with  the  rich  and  soft 
atmosphere,  the  delicate  coloring,  the  artistic  light 
and  shade,  the  tone  and  proportion  that  are  usually 


looked  for  only  in  a  picture  of  the  past,  is  a  great 
achievement.  Mr.  Viele  has  achieved  it;  and  since 
he  is  the  author  of  but  one  story  before  this,  conceived 
in  a  very  different  spirit  and  environment,  it  affords 
good  ground  for  hope  that  he  is  to  be  one  of  the  true 
artists  and  foremost  novelists  of  the  young  genera- 
tion.— Post,  Denver,  Colo, 

In  "  The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers "  Mr.  Herman 
Knickerbocker  Viele  has  given  us  not  a  good  second 
to  his  "  Inn  of  the  Silver  Moon,"  but  an  excellent 
first,  in  an  entirely  different  field.  The  tale  is  one  of 
the  old  families,  but  the  telling  is  in  a  new  vein.  The 
plot  is  novel  as  well  as  ingenious.  Under  all  there  is 
a  play  of  the  most  delicious  humor,  and  a  familiarity 
with  the  ways  and  foibles  of  old  families  that  could 
only  come  by  birthright  membersliip. — N,  Y.  Times 
Saturday  Review, 

The  quality  we  call  charm  is  imponderable.  There 
is  no  use  trying  to  measure  it  or  to  put  your  finger  on 
it.  Mr.  Viele's  books  possess  charm  to  a  high  degree, 
but  one  must  read  him,  not  be  told  about  him,  to  ap- 
preciate his  work.  We  hope  he  will  give  us  many  such 
lively  and  pretty  conceits,  like  the  one  just  issued. — 
Record-Herald,  Chicago. 

This  is  one  of  the  most  delightful  bits  of  light 
literature  the  season  has  yet  produced. — Evening  Star, 
Washington,  D.  C, 

Anybody  who  knows  New  York  will  enjoy  this  book 
on  the  strength  of  its  descriptive  passages  alone.    The 


streets,  tlie  conveyances,  the  idiosyncrasies,  the  effects 
of  weather  and  light,  the  buildings  and  the  interiors, 
the  feeling,  the  tone,  all  are  here,  and  win  our  pleased 
assent  as  they  pass  before  us.  And  the  environment 
keeps  the  characters  who  move  in  it  sane  and  genuine. 
As  in  "  The  Inn  of  the  Silver  Moon,"  there  are  no 
villains  in  the  tale  and  all  ends  happily.  There  is  no 
problem  in  the  book,  no  social  reform  is  advocated,  we 
leave  the  community  neither  better  nor  worse  than 
we  found  it.  But  no  one  can  read  the  story  without 
feeling  a  greater  kindliness  toward  his  fellow  creatures 
and  gratitude  toward  the  author. — North  American, 
Philadelphia, 

Mr.  Herman  K.  Viele  has  told  a  delightful  story  in 
"  The  Last  of  the  Knickerbockers."  If  the  reader 
does  not  like  Alida  Van  Wandeleer,  we  shall  feel 
obliged  to  have  a  small  opinion  of  him.  There  have 
been  ill-natured  criticisms  of  this  metropolis.  They 
have  never  disturbed  us.  We  do  not  even  remember 
the  names  of  the  ingenious  persons  who  invented 
them.  Should  it  curiously  be  the  case  that  they  linger 
painfully  in  the  memory  of  any,  we  recommend  to 
such  the  great  solace  of  this  corrective  and  reassuring 
story. — The  Sun,  New  YorJc. 


WJFFEU)QCO]\ffi\NY 

36WEST37^5T^K^NEW  YORK 


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Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


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